The Crimson Dragon
by kellythegreat
Summary: An AU story, 500 years later. Sequel to "The Blue Rose". Zuko is now destined to unite the barbaric land of Acchai, while Katara faces her own struggles. As they find their way back to one another, will love conquer all? Zutara, Taang, Jetzula, Sukka.
1. Prologue

**The Crimson Dragon**

_Sequel to: The Blue Rose_

I do not own Avatar: the Last Airbender

_**Break**_

_To Grand Advisor Chen of the Royal Province; Most Loyal to the Eternal Spirit of the Chosen King; named Spokesman of the Holy Tongue; once Lord of the Kiraz Estate; once Grand Admiral of the Royal Navy;_

_Greetings and Peace upon the Household of the Chosen King of Heaven._

_In reply to the threats of the Insubordinates and the Rebels, following the account of actions taken on the eastern fronts to secure the peoples and territories of the Union:_

_Dispatched armies of the Twelfth, Fourteenth, and Twenty-Third Regiment on the fourth month, day 12 after the New Moon: unable to recover the territories of Hu Shin, Al Khamasin or Rihad. Unable to recover cities of Balda Haram, Balda Shiva or Tabuk. Defenses constructed along the rivers of Tibul-ahn and Portho, both lost to Rebel forces._

_Hotzones: Cities of Gahmai, Apnu and Omashu. Territory of Balda Sio-maht._

_Outnumbered seven to one on the northern front. Defenses strained on the southern front and Atheos River. Forces will fail by month's end._

**_Casualties:_**

_Advisor Panhu_

_Advisor Jiu_

_Advisor Azo Hung_

_Governor of the Hu Shin Province._

_Governor of the Al Khamasin Province._

_Governor of the Rihad Province._

_Governor of Balda Ajan._

_Governor of Einar._

_Multiple familial deaths of all parties._

_General Izumi._

_General Keiji._

_Captain Ae Sook._

_Captain Nahal._

_Captain Sunan._

_Multiple soldier deaths. Identities to be recorded at confrontation closure._

**_Requests for manpower: _**

_Twenty orders of military tanks._

_Fifteen orders of catapults._

_Ten Earthbending Regiments._

_Explosives Specialists._

_Firebending Defense Specialists._

_Waterbending Defense Specialists._

_War-Guidance Dai Li Faction._

_Captain and General support._

**_Identity of Rebel Leader Confirmed:_**

_Name: Azula of Agni. Daughter of Ozai of Agni._

_Classification:_

_Female. Lower Noble/Working Noble. Firebender._

_Notable Companions:_

_Mai of Niraj. Daughter of Yusung._

_Zhanu of Balda Shiva. Son of former Advisor Zhao._

_Strength:_

_Tenth, Fourth Factions of the Dai Li._

_Unknown Number of Traitorous Earthbender Elite and other Union Soldiers._

_Unknown Number of Peasant Followers._

_Confrontation has reached critical period. Request Union officials take actions in response to Civil War, Article 19._

_With all Respects, Honors, and Prayers to the Chosen King, in defense of the free Union,_

_General Si Yun_

**_Break_**

_To Uncle Mushi,_

_I'm sorry it's taken so long to reply to your letter. I've been very busy with some friends of mine, and with my studies. I can say I never imagined traveling to such strange countries...or meeting such strange people, but I suppose I'm thankful for it. I hope the crows have left your garden by now - although I heard from another that your garden isn't in such good shape. I hope you don't have any other pests around. I for one hate it when snakes show up._

_I was very sad about the painting. I never mentioned it to anyone, of course - but it was devastating. Give my regards to everyone back home. I'm starting a big assignment now, one you probably wouldn't understand all the way - though I am rather curious as to how well you know the Professor. It'll be very difficult. But maybe if I get it done well you'll hear about it. Other than that there's not much else, except the Devil on my back._

_I did find one thing interesting here. A flower grows in the wilds here, that would take your breath away. I doubt there is an equal to it, in all the world. In fact, I know there isn't._

_They call it the Blue Rose._

_Li_

"What's that one part mean? About the Devil on his back?"

The soldier holding the letter was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk before him, mindlessly getting grime on the stack of instruction papers. The window of the make-shift watchtower in Balda Haram, positioned there strategically by Azula, was seeing no action tonight. The city had long been under the control of the Rebels, and even those most loyal to the Union would not dare have tried to reclaim it. It was Azula's home base, guarded by the worst, the most cutthroat and desperate.

The other guard was steadily devouring a chunk of salted pork and potatoes, which a shy-eyed woman from a nearby bar had brought him. He squeezed her ass delightfully on her way out, and was now making his happy way through the meat.

"Ain't mean nothin'," he spit out a bit of food as he spoke. "Jus' a sayin' ."

"What sayin'? I ain't never heard it."

"You know - Devil's on my back, waitin' to attack, if he comes lookin' for a due, you better hope it ain't you. It's somethin' goes 'round the city, is all."

"So it don't mean shit?"

"Nah. Pass it off."

The soldier in the chair shrugged, then leaned over to give the letter back to the rather disgruntled eagle-hawk. After tying it to the bird's leg, the creature took off like a shot into the night. The soldier leaned forward a little to grasp another letter (it was scented, and seemed from some distant lover) and ripped it open to read.

"Can't believe it sometimes, you know. We in the middle of Civil War, and people still gettin' worked up over a damn flower."


	2. Cold

"Hey, man - you ever hear the story about Oma and Shu?"

"Aren't you supposed to be at the helm right now?"

Captain Chong lounged lazily beside the Prince, strumming his lute, as the boat drifted into colder waters, faster currents. They had not yet reached the point were an ice flows or glaciers had begun to spring up, but the sight of land was a distant memory, and the wind was bitter. Appa had been tucked away below deck, to sleep and heal; Katara had been down four times already to help with his cuts and bruises, and to set the bison's broken legs. Aang, still guilty and depressed at times, kept a better-healed Momo with him wherever he went now, and the lemur was often curled up inside the airbender's shirt to escape the growing cold. Toph was more irate nowadays because of her inability to see, but Aang cheered her up immensely one day by borrowing a pebble necklace for her from Lily, Chong's wife. Feeling earth between her hands, however small, made her brighten immensely, and she clung to that necklace for as long as they were at the Aurora Tribe.

Katara was distant, but everyone was a little tense or weary, so this went unnoticed. The waterbender sat alone at the stern of the ship, gazing back behind them like she was looking for someone to follow. A part of herself missing.

And the strangest thing was, she didn't even realize it yet.

Suki was with Lily, attempting to do some navigating while Chong played, but Sokka was unaware of this. Chong had, for some inexplicable reason, chosen to latch himself onto the Prince, and was having a mildly fun time badgering back and forth with him.

"Relax, Angry-Man. The currents guide us. Don't be so worried about the trip; enjoy the journey, man."

"You have no idea if we're going the right way, do you?" Sokka snarled.

"Hey, we're going north. Aurora Tribe's north. You know?" Chong waved his hand distractedly, played a few chords.

"Ok, great. Let's just drift along aimlessly. I'm sure a passing penguin will give us directions if we get lost," muttered Sokka irritably. Chong raised an eyebrow, stopped playing for a minute, then broke into a huge smile.

"Hey! You're a funny Prince. I've never met a funny Prince before. I think I'll write a song about you."

Aang laughed as Sokka sighed and dropped his head exasperatedly. Distracted by the Avatar's mirth, Chong effectively forgot the conversation with Sokka and focused on the more up-beat airbender.

"Hey - Master Arrowhead! You ever heard _Secret Tunnel_? It's a real legend..."

Toph stumbled her way past the three men as Chong began to bang out _Secret Tunnel _on his lute, much to Sokka's annoyance and Aang's delight. The earthbender was, understandably, not having the best of time tip-toeing around on a wooden vessel where she couldn't see, but Katara was almost always in the same place on the baot these days, so she'd figure she'd try and find the way there herself. Katara called out to her to let her know where she was; and then, in shock, the waterbender noticed that Toph was wearing a thick, fuzzy-looking pair of boot.

"Toph! Are you?"

"Yeah, I'm wearing shoes, I know," she grumbled, grabbing her sister's should blindly and sitting down beside her, CHong's music playing in the background. "It's getting cold. Sokka made me put them on."

"I'm sorry," and truly, Katara knew how much Toph hated shoes, and hated the idea of the Northern Aurora Tribe altogether.

"I won't be able to see a thing there, will I?" the earthbender said distractedly. Katara put an arm around her sister's shoulders, one because it would comfort Toph, and also because it was getting very chilly out.

"Probably not... It'll be all ice, the way dad told it."

"...Damn," Toph snorted, crossing her arms unhappily.

For awhile they sat there without speaking, listening as Chong played his music, his voice rough but rather charming over the constant rush of the sea. There was no cry of gull to add to his chorus, as they were too far from land; but the ocean itself was like a meter, a beat to his tunes, and in infinite understanding of the pace of nature, Chong used this to his advantage. Even Sokka, still gloomy-faced, was starting to sway a little to Chong's music.

"It really is getting colder," Katara didn't really know why she said it. She had remembered the story of Chong, the nomad, whom she had read of in the Library. Those days seemed so far away it was almost unreal. Alone with Zuko beneath a million falling stars.

"So? You always said how much you preferred the cold," Toph reminded her.

Zuko's strong arms around her. The dizzying warmth of his embrace, the fire running through his veins.

"...Yeah, I guess I did say that..."

_**Break**_

They were halfway to Acchai before Zuko spoke to anyone.

The caravan they had infiltrated was a settlement party traveling to the sea, and it consisted mostly of small, impoverished families. The crowded streets of Masabi, while always bringing in dreamy-eyed foreigners with visions of gold-lined streets, were also constantly pouring out the most despairing citizens back into the cruel world. A rumor of an uncultivated island had reached the ears of this particular group, and they had compiled all their worldly possessions into the dangerous journey; camels and goat-mules and donkeys were packed with clothing, tinder, dried meat, fruit, blankets, water; precious family heirlooms were tucked away in the deepest pockets, gold watches, strings of pearls - these peasant's sole bartering chips against thieves. Children were everywhere, which Jeong-Jeong was rather unused to, resisting the urge to swat them away whenever they came laughing and running towards his tiger-stallion. Mothers were always around, but many of them were widows, or wives of soldiers sent to fight for Long Feng. Men were scarce in such parties, but to employ protection was a price none of them could pay, and their chances for survival through the paths of Acchai was slim. Much was their praise, then, when the grand General Jeong-Jeong offered his protection along with the soldiers under his command, all at no price - save that no one betray them to the Emperor. But there was no love for the Emperor among the peasants, so there was little worry.

Hakoda was a myth among these people. As soon as the words were spoke - _Chief of the Aurora Tribe - _people dropped to their knees in awe, for the memory of the noble Water Tribes had long been legend in the East. Their reverence was a little misplaced, however; many thought Hakoda was magic, as was a common belief about the water-people, and could implore the gods for aid or guidance in their favor. Hakoda denied these claims, but many of them still took to superstition when he was near; they poured water on their heads, or wore their seal-skin cloaks, or said prayers over their blue and yellow coral pendants.

Jeong-Jeong was too busy drilling Zuko in his firebending techniques to notice the strange acts of the people - in fact, he had been training the heir of Agni for the entire course of the caravan's departure from Masabi. Zuko had raw power and force and passion to fuel him, but his form was sloppy, and his basics were still unmastered. Through hours and meditation and drilling sets, Jeong-Jeong had attempted to improve the firebender's skills, and to some degree it was working - the only flaw was, half the time Zuko wasn't even paying attention to Jeong-Jeong, too wrapped up in the memory of Katara's kiss.

The General finally decided to snap the heir of Agni out of his delusions when the caravan stopped at a watering spot, to get drink for the camels and other pack-creatures. As the animals drank and the other travelers relaxed, Jeong-Jeong put Zuko through some steady endurance training, much to Zuko's discomfort.

He was balancing on a stake Jeong-Jeong had slammed into the earth by one huge, powerful hand. Veins were sticking out slightly from Zuko's skin, strained with the position he was in; legs suspended straight up above him, right arm extended out to his side. A red flame was flickering in his free palm. Jeong-Jeong's instructions were simple; every five minutes or so, or when one arm got too tired, he was to switch the hand suspending him on the stake - passing the flame to the other hand, without letting it go out.

Hakoda did not sit down beside Jeong-Jeong, who was meditating and watching Zuko. There was a long, thin parcel strapped to the General's back. Hakoda stopped for a moment on his way to water his own steed, an fierce-tempered ostrich-horse.

"Do you think he'll pass in Acchai?"

The General opened his eyes from meditating and studied the young firebender. Zuko was strong, but not tempered strong; he did not know his limitations yet, and so his efforts fluctuated. At the moment he was doing fairly well with balancing his weight, but the flame in palm was low and weak; he was not concentrating on what he was doing, despite the strenuous nature of it all.

"He needs a proper mount. And proper armor. And he should slay for a panther-skin, if is he to be respected," the General decided.

Hakoda watched as Zuko, in a slow, painful fashion, lowered his outstretched arm, where he was holding the flame. Gingerly, forehead beaded with sweat, whole body tensed and burning with the effort, he lowered his flame-coated hand beside the one supporting him on the stake. Then, as quickly and fluidly as he could, he breathed out - and switched hands, flame burning on in his right palm, left arm supporting his whole weight.

"I can get him the mount and armor," Hakoda was slightly impressed with Zuko's ability, but could not yet show that to the firebender himself. "You'll have to see about the skin."

Then he left Jeong-Jeong, who stood purposefully and strode across to Zuko. Zuko only knew he was there by the sigh of his shadow on the ground; but even then he could feel the piercing, ferocious gaze of the General, fixed on him with such focused intensity it made him feel slightly nauseous.

"You're mind is not on the task at hand."

Zuko stared at his ground, golden eyes piercing with the exertion it took to hold his position. The flame flickered unsurely between his fingers.

Katara's kiss beneath a slow sea breeze. Her fingers gliding up the back of his neck. Sweet and salty.

Jeong-Jeong kicked the stake with such blind force it snapped in three places.

Zuko couldn't even cry out; he simply fell, hard, sickening crunch as his shoulder joint popped out of place. Jeong-Jeong already had his foot on the firebender's chest before all the splinters had stopped falling.

"Where is your mind?"

Zuko didn't answer, face riddled suddenly as pain shot up and down his arm. He didn't react to the General - his fire was quenched, for he knew not why. He gave in to the pain abruptly and eagerly. He had never given in so quickly before, and Jeong-Jeong saw it, and fire bled into his eyes.

Infuriated, the General grabbed him by his black hair, pulling him up harshly, feet leaving liens in the sand. Zuko struggled to escape the General's grip, but put so little effort into the attempt that Jeong-Jeong broke his attack before it began. With one swift motion the General spun the firebender passed him, took his forearm in one hand, and snapped his shoulder back into place. Zuko cried out and staggered past him, stumbling back to the ground, arm searing.

"You're not listening to me. You're not even listening to the pain. _Where is your mind?_"

"I..."

But Zuko ached. Deeply, inwardly, he ached in a way that no physical wound could top. And it was sapping the strength and fire from him.

He wanted Katara.

"Get _up_!"

Jeong-Jeong threw his boot into Zuko's side so hard that Zuko rolled across the ground, cutting his back on rock and briar. Choking up dust, he tried to get to get to his feet; but then the General's hand was back on his head, and before Zuko could react, Jeong-Jeong had jabbed his knee into Zuko's face and cracked his nose so hard it poured fresh blood down across his face.

Zuko flung out one arm wildly, making contact with some part of the General, but too blind and dizzy to actually land a blow; and then there was another fist spinning his head to the left, and then a kick to his chest that sent the breathe rushing out his lungs, forcing him back to the ground. Heaving and gasping for air, he rolled over, trembling, bloody nose and mouth making puddles of red on the ground.

"How do you expect to conquer the Lords of Acchai if you cannot even stand to face me?" the General yelled.

This time Zuko saw the boot coming out of the corner of his eye. Rolling over, he caught Jeong-Jeong's boot mid-kick and tried to force him off balance by dragging his leg down. The General simply pun fluidly, gracefully, and slammed his elbow into the middle of the firebender's chest.

Zuko's own heart seemed to scream in pain - and then somehow he was back up again, supported by Jeong-Jeong's fist in his hair, and the scarred man was before him like a hellfire, like death incarnate.

"You are _weak_!"

And Zuko roared.

He spat fire into the General's face, and surprised by the act, he stumbled back, dropping the wounded Zuko. Zuko landed hard on his knees, so that they skin tore; but he was stumbled back up in a moment, punching deep into the General's jaw. Jeong-Jeong, not all that put off by Zuko's desperation, countered the next punch only for Zuko to drop down and kick fire beneath his feet. The General leapt away, assumed a bending stance, as Zuko panted painfully before him.

"Why did it take you so long to hit me back?" Jeong-Jeong demanded. Zuko stared at him beneath sweat and blood and black hair, his face a mess of crimson from his still-bleeding nose.

"I don't want to do this," he admitted, and there was a broken tone in his voice that enraged, maddened the General. Suddenly his hands were full of white fire, and he was before Zuko, more terrifying than a wrathful dragon, hands above him to bring down the torrent of flame. Zuko felt the heat wash over him like he was already burning.

"Then you are still nothing but a boy!"

Zuko barely deflected the fury of the General's blow. Wind and white fire rushed passed him; he felt his shoulders and feet sear, begin to burn. Desperate not to be consumed with Jeong-Jeong's flame, he struck his own current of red fire through the inferno, towards where he guessed the General to be. When the flame finally parted and he realized he had missed, Jeong-Jeong attacked him from the side.

"You're friends faith in you - the future of this world! Does it mean anything to you?"

Fire flew between them, the glint of Jeong-Jeong's blade. Suddenly Zuko was weaponless before a demonic General, trying to slice the heir of Agni into several roasted pieces. Zuko tried to remember how had defeated Jeong-Jeong in their duel at Al-Abhad; something to do with his youth and determination had aided him, and he tried desperately to get back his old, infuriated fire.

"Do you even believe you can do this?" Jeong-Jeong was toying with him, making him dance backwards, avoid the swing of metal and the rush of flame.

Zuko remembered Jet. In the burning building in_ Balda Haram._ Somehow believing that he could make a difference, could bring truth back to the world. That they wouldn't always have to crawl beneath earthbender's feet. He remembered Aang's words before departing, Sokka's friendship, Hakoda's words, Jeong-Jeong's training and trust in the desert caravan.

They all believed he could do this.

_Katara believed he could do this._

Jeong-Jeong brought the blade down towards Zuko's chest. But suddenly Zuko was beside the blow, and Jeong-Jeong's wrists were twisted back, snapped into place, dagger point against the General's neck. Cutting off a few hairs from his white beard. Zuko could have thrust the point into the General's jugular from this angle.

"I can unite Acchai," he exclaimed.

He barely saw the smile on the General's face before he felt the crushing pain in his side, and realized he'd left himself wide-open for an attack. Then his feet were in the air, and the dagger was back inJeong-Jeong's possession, and he was on the ground before the Master.

"Good. You are one step closer to becoming a man."

Jeong-Jeong took off the parcel strapped to his back and threw it as Zuko's feet. Two gleaming, twin blades fell part-ways out, crested with a Fire Insignia.

The sign of the House Of Agni.

**_Break_**

BTW: Captain Chong vs. Captain Jack Sparrow?


	3. Fear and Respect

The circus kept all sorts of creatures for their menagerie displays. They had a section of leaf-eaters that was a great hit with children; rabaroos and anteater-sloths and adorable panda-moles, all available for petting, and the occasional ride or two on the goat-mules; then there were the hogmonkeys and chimps, and other amusing creatures for sole entertainment purposes, stealing the hats off innocents spectators; and naturally, all circuses had their platypus-bears, elephants, tigers, stag-giraffes, and jackalopes, all with their own routines, paired with performers in such brilliant costumes matched that only a rainbow of exotic birds could compare (which ever circus had, flying free in the main tent). If a circus was extremely lucky, they may even catch prize rarities; a porcupine-boar or sabre-tooth moose-lion was always better than gold, a winning ticket to stardom.

To buy any animal from the circus was nearly unheard of, as everyone knew that obtaining animals for the show was practically as difficult as changing the stars. An animal was only sold, in fact, if it was sick, past use, or incurably wild, and even then a desperate ringleader may still hold on to the beast. The menagerie was the bread and butter of the circus business, since freaks and sideshows only brought in the gruesomely curious, fair-games only got a man so far, and acrobatics were going out of style. It was a touchy business, trying to buy animals off a circus, and no one who knew the business would recommend it.

Zuko, however, did not consider all of this when he accompanied Jeong-Jeong to the circus-grounds that warm, incredibly early morning. He was preoccupied with things he considered a little more important than the inner dealings of the circus-animal business.

Such as the 14 foot, 700 pound black mountain-panther that was chewing dents into the metal bars of its cage.

"...You're fucking kidding me."

The circus grounds were not even fully set up yet, as the first show did not commence for three days. The animals were all still in their carts and cages, fed and watered twice a day by disgruntled shovel-boys (except for the elephants, who had to be led to water, as they drank too much to carry). The stars - male and female, in their fake gold acrobatic outfits, plumed with brightly-colored feathers - were stretching and training off away from the sideshow-men, the massive Fat Lady, the midgets and heroic strong-men in leopard-print. The big top was still laid flat on the dusty earth, striped a glorious red and white that looked ridiculous against the pale yellow and brown of the landscape.

The panther, according to what Jeong-Jeong said, had been in the circus for about three years. Those three years, however, had done nothing to sweeten the mood of the beast. It snarled and snapped at the bars of its cage until its gums bled, red across sickening white teeth. Like a reflection of the circus-tent.

"I didn't have time to find you a wild one. You'll have to make do," Jeong-Jeong walked down into the ring where the cage was positioned, Zuko coming in hesitantly behind him.

"Make _do_ - ?"

The General was never one to warn his soldiers, nor anyone for that matter, of what his next action might be. As it was with this particular occasion, Jeong-Jeong already knew what needed to be done: Zuko had to slay for a skin, for no one in Acchai would respect or fear him without one. The General had practically given his left arm to the circus-folk to obtain the blood-thirsty creature, and the effort this charitable act had taken (though the General would never mention it to Zuko) had caused Jeong-Jeong serious irritation. His main goal now was to get the problem dealt with and to move on to their next stage of action.

This all, of course, meant terrible things for Zuko, as the General's plans often seemed to do.

Jeong-Jeong swung open the cage so abruptly that several circus-travellers were still inside the ring when he did so. The seething creature leapt out, jaw slick with saliva and snapping like a steel trap, eyes blood-shot and yellow as gold, teeth like rows of unsheathed daggers beneath the curled ferocity of its lip. Muscle rippled beneath black fur, ears swung back, tensed as it glared, snarling, around the ring; the circus folk cried out and ran for cover, trying desperately to escape to safety. The ringleader did not even have a moment to scream in fury at the General; the great cat howled and leapt, a streak of black lightning, towards the edge of the ring where he and Zuko stood dumbfounded.

As Zuko dove out of the way, and the panther tensed together to spring on the terrified ringleader, a blazing streak of fire whistled in and exploded between the two. In the same moment the outer edge of the ring seemed to flutter, and catch into red flame; Jeong-Jeong, in bending stance, had silently encased them all in a ring of fire, to force the battle between man and beast.

The ringleader, a firebender like the other two, simply stumbled blubbering away from the growling black wraith before him, bending just enough to throw himself out of the ring of fire. Smoke was collecting in thick bunches in the ceiling of the tent, and performers were screaming and running in terror; one woman, all in shining blue sequins with a large, cerulean feather headdress, stumbled down outside the ring, catching Zuko's eye through the smoke and red flame.

The glitter of blue sequins reminded him, briefly, of the glimmer in Katara's eyes.

"_Aja_, Zuko!"

Zuko suddenly received an unbearably clear view of the red-streaked coloring of the panther's gums, tucked below icy teeth.

He tried to kick out with his legs, and counter the panther's attack as it bowled him over - but he may as well have been kicking at stone. It's claws were out and blinding beneath the light of red flame, jaw making a metallic click every time teeth came together empty, seeking the soft flesh of the firebender's throat. There was a moment, as Zuko fell, when he lit his finger to flame in a vague attempt to defend himself - but the earth beneath him hit him like a hammer, and as the breathe flew out of his lungs the flame shuddered and died. Without air, Zuko went momentarily limp beneath the writhing mass of fury and fur that had captured him; and then there were teeth in his chest, and he screamed mutely as the blood flowed.

The panther howled as Zuko finally regained breathe, and hot yellow flame shot from his heels into the creature's stomach. Ripping its jaw from Zuko's chest, the panther cried one long, mewlish note, and stumbled back in the direction of the cage. It's underbelly was burned by Zuko's flame, though not dramatically enough to keep it distracted for long. Zuko was on his knees, ripping off his already crimson shirt, buying himself a few more moment by casting a weak wall of flame before him.

There was a foot-long gash in the midst of Zuko's chest, bloody and gory and open to the world, and the sudden impact of it was making Zuko's head spin. The pain had not hit him yet, but it would soon - and then his body would go weak, and he'd be cat-food.

He had to act fast, while the adrenaline was still pumping through him, and the shock was numbing him. With one hand he drew a dual blade, ringing loudly amidst the roar of flame; with the other he pressed his shirt to the open wound on his chest trying to ignore the way his stomach was churning, head rushing. The infuriated panther, looking more the part of the Devil with its bloody fangs and piercing gaze, shuddered its massive body in fury and pain as Zuko stood. With one accord they both seemed to leap for each other, Zuko crying inhumanly against the savage howl of the cat.

It was like running into a wall made of daggers; in a second the shadow of the panther's black coat was everywhere, and there was the sting of claws running down his barren back. Roaring again like a beast, Zuko engulfed his blade in a startling white fire he had never used before; swinging out madly, he only managed to take off a slice from the beast's shoulder. The panther rolled on top of him again, flipping him over so that his hand was crushed into the hilt of blade as it came down to earth. Knowing the panther was a second away from biting his head off, Zuko grappled desperately for the sword. Two of his fingers throbbed as he did so; they were limp and broken.

Cursing as he realized he couldn't grip the sword, Zuko released his hold on his chest and swung a string of flame into the panther's face. The panther snarled and backed off immediately - but not before it's claws had torn parallel rivets into Zuko's back, Zuko still delightfully numb to the pain and the warm trickle of blood. Switching hands, he grabbed the sword with his left and pressed the clothe back to his chest; but he was stumbling in gathering fatigue, and the adrenaline was beginning to fade. His chest throbbed. In a moment, the pain would be upon him.

The panther batted angrily at its nose, and then barred its teeth at the firebender for the last time, as Zuko calculated to final move he needed to make. He was in a sorry state, with the massive gash on his chest and the clawed cuts in his back, the two broken fingers held protectively into his chest. Everywhere there was red, staining skin and clothe and everything else below Zuko's throat, back and front, dripping behind him on the ground in a blood trail. The great black cat's nostrils flared at the scent of it all, and in fury and blood-thirst it sprang towards the wounded firebender, despite the glint of the steel.

Zuko cried out in abrupt pain as he kicked his heel out towards the cat, releasing a brief jet of flame. The panther did not leap aside this time, too driven by the smell of blood, Zuko's face a mask of agony - and all as Zuko had hoped anticipated, as the cat bared it's teeth, and the Dao blade went screaming through its miserable neck.

The panther tried to howl, but its throat was cut so deep that only an unpleasant gargling noise came out. The slash threw the great beast off-balance and it tumbled blindly into Zuko, who managed to roll out from under it by the skin of his teeth. The great beast wobbled up, stumbled around awkwardly, spastically, as the blood drained like a river from its exposed jugular, flowing in puddles on the floor. Zuko did not even try to raise his head to watch the beast's demise; he lay gasping on the ground, hand weak on the wet and red shirt pressed against his chest.

Finally the panther's body convulsed, wracked with spasms, and the creature collapsed. It lay there, twitching, as Jeong-Jeong finally abandoned his post by the cage door, and walked very calmly (albeit slowly) to where Zuko was trembling on the ground, just feet away from the slain beast. Beneath his hands the fires died; still terrified people, lingering at the edges of the tent, stopped in bewilderment as the flames vanished and the smoke ceased.

"Can you move?"

His voice was the steady, mildly ferocious and emotionless tone it always was. Zuko shuddered through a wave of pain - and then suddenly he laughed, face bursting into a strained, sick sort of smile.

"I'm - I'm going to kill you..."

And Jeong-Jeong seemed oddly amused by that statement.

"Bring a healer! And fetch a boy to help me with the body," he was chuckling under his breathe as he did so.

It took only five minutes to locate a healer - circuses often carried one or two, to heal sick animals or people, as there were always accidents in the circus-business - but to Zuko it felt like an eternity. As the firebender waited in steadily growing agony for the healer to come and take him out of his misery, he heard the General speaking with a very angry and red-faced ringleader, cursing in several different language to the stone-faced Jeong-Jeong. It was actually quiet admirable the way the man cussed in Jeong-Jeong's face, before the General finally found it fitting to change the direction of his nose.

Then, as an after-thought, while the waterbending woman was raising Zuko up into sitting position, the General noted:

"By the way - the panther waswild. They caught it this morning."

Zuko took the clothe off his bloody chest as the healer brought water to her hands, too winded and adrenaline-exhausted to say anything besides:

"...Oh, _fuck_ you."

--

By the time Zuko was healed enough to receive some temporary, artificial bandaging from Song, Teo and Jeong-Jeong had already gone to work on the cloak for Zuko. It would be a monstrous mess of a thing, the way Zuko had so wildly slashed open its gullet - but with proper attention it would be one of the most imposing Acchain cloaks ever made. While a mole-bear cloak was by the far the most respected of attire (seeing as mole-bears only lived in the northern wastes in the mountains, and it usually took two dozen hunters to bring one down) most soldiers relented to less imposing creatures for their cloaks - various types of lesser bears, or spined-deer. The panther would be a sign of utmost triumph, and most men would be wary of Zuko before approaching him to fight.

Zuko remained in his tent a long while after Song left him. Because the healer was able to get to the wounds quickly, they had healed up rather nicely; but they were still sore, and there would be a riveting new scar across Zuko's chest the next day. He was lying down on his makeshift bed now, a bundle of furs and blankets, eyes closed as he dreamed of, and wished for, and replayed those few precious moments, back at the docks in Masabi.

He was sliding the blue gem of Katara's necklace between his fingers. Cool and smooth, like he imagined her caramel skin.

She had said nothing when she put it in his hand. No teary "I love you's", or "wait for me's" - just the cool blue surface of the stone, the reminder of sweet lips on his. His mind strayed wonderfully at that thought, into dark places, as he imagined the scene in his head - the first gray of sunrise, sheets tangled, and the living beauty lying beneath him, eyes like the ocean.

Zuko knew he was hers. And he would wait for her. Til the ending of the earth, he knew he would wait for her.

_Like you waited for Mai?_

Zuko stopped fingering the necklace.

He opened his eyes unsurely, unaware of where that dark thought had come from. It took a moment for him to convince himself that he was feeling guilty - feeling lonely - feeling pitiful after the day's trying events. He attempted to shake off that dreaded comparison.

"No. This is different."

He knew it was different. Katara was different. She was worth waiting for.

But the doubt still followed him, persistent as a shadow.

--

Hakoda was sitting on an outcropping over the path of the Silk Road, where the caravan had stopped for the night. The distant lights of the circus tents had drawn the various civilians in the party, all of them rather unaware as to the bloody events taken place there earlier that day. They would murmur a little at the question of the ringleader's broken nose, but that would be all; then the animals would come out and the circus would begin, and the skinny acrobatic women in their tight outfits would do their flips and jumps, and there would be the laughter of small children in the distance. It was times like this Hakoda thought most of his love, his soul-wife.

He had rarely seen her with their children. She had been of his Tribe, but Fong had laid eyes on her when she was just fifteen; he married her two years later (though even this was considered late in his customs), despite the fact Hakoda had been days away from proposing himself. Hakoda was not Chief then, and Fong was above him, so the arrangement could not be denied. In desperation he gave her his engagement necklace, and vowed to save her. Hakoda's father stopped him from attacking the Lord Fong before he took his bride away, much to Hakoda's anger and despair. It would be many years before he saw her again, but it would be a furious and passionate encounter.

Hakoda tried not to stray back to any heated memories by looking sadly at his unlit pipe. He had stuffed it with a good amount of leaf, but the fire before him was too low to ignite it.

"Need a light?"

Hakoda looked up calmly at Zuko, as the firebender took a seat next to him. Still sore from the days events, it took a stiff, concentrated effort to sit comfortably beside the Chief.

"Yes, thank you," Zuko snapped and let a small flame hover over his thumb, allowing the Chief to light his pipe. The sunset was a deep red this evening, which looked bold and ominous over the bleak landscape, stretching forth into the realm of Acchai. Hakoda always thought it had an odd comparison to the North - the endless wastes, empty but all-consuming.

"I think he's trying to kill me," Zuko broke the silence as he caught sight of Jeong-Jeong, sitting at dinner around his own campfire, as Song served him. Hakoda chuckled, watched the eerily silent General as he devoured the plate of meat and bread Song had set before him. An altogether barbaric sort of man.

"If Jeong-Jeong wanted to kill you, Zuko - you'd be dead."

"Well he's just trying to cause me horribly debilitating pain, then."

Even Hakoda had to laugh at this, and thump Zuko lightly on his back, which wasn't the best thing seeing as Zuko's front was still incredibly sore. In a show of good faith, even, Hakoda handed Zuko the pipe, to take his own drag. Zuko had ever smoked before, but he took the pipe rather confidently, knowing what a friendly action it was. Upon first inhaling, though, he quiet effectively choked and spluttered.

"You'll get used to it," Hakoda smiled, taking the pipe back as Zuko waved it away, still coughing. It was strong smoked-tobacco, probably not the easiest thing to start the firebender off with.

"I think I'll pass," Zuko coughed out the last bits of smoke from his lungs. Hakoda smiled to himself.

"I've gotten you a stallion to ride in place of that mangy ostrich-horse," said Hakoda conversationally, as Zuko leaned forward beside him to look at the sunset. The caravan stretched beneath them as many different-sized dark blobs of carts and wagons and sleeping beasts, hastily-pitched tents and small campfires, the groups of Jeong-Jeong's soldiers that lay riddled randomly through the entire encampment. "It's got a bit of camel in it too, I think - it'll do well in the heat of Acchai."

"Thank you," Zuko consented, and then for a long while there was only silence between the two men, and the distant red glow of the sunset.

It would have been oddly uncomfortably if they knew, moments before, that they had both been thinking of their secret loves - Hakoda of his soul-wife, and Zuko of Katara. Of course, Zuko would not much have cared to know Hakoda was dreaming of his wife. Hakoda, however, would be far more angrily concerned with the wanderings of Zuko's mind. Fortunately, neither of them were mind-readers, and Zuko was more concerned with the sight of the vicious General, far below them.

"Chief - if I may," and Hakoda nodded that he might, and Zuko continued fearlessly. "How did you become such a great leader? I mean, Jeong-Jeong follows every word you say. You're a Chief."

Hakoda grinned at the idea of the General following his every command, but decided against putting doubts in the firebender's head about Jeong-Jeong's loyalties.

"I was born to become a Chieftain," he reminded Zuko. "That was not hard. But for men like me, like Jeong-Jeong, like you - there are only two ways we can establish and keep authority. One is through fear, which is both easy to achieve and to maintain, but inspires no love in those who follow you. The second is through respect - something that could take you a thousand years to earn, and a second to lose. But it will breed closer friends than any despot ever had."

"Is that how you did it?" Hakoda took a long drag from the pipe.

"I find it is most affective to use both."

Zuko should have figured this would be the answer, but this did not lessen his disappointment. Despite the way he had throughly beaten soldiers and civilians alongside Jet in _Balda Haram_ - despite how hard he had fought against bloodbender, Shifter, sandbender, archers, Dai Li, the Guard of the Emperor - despite the ferocious flame that still burned inside him, he was finding it difficult to believe he could inspire fear. Surely he could, if he acted like Jeong-Jeong, like Hakoda. And in the past that may have been easy for him. He admired the barbarian way, since for all its ruthlessness, it was, in essence, a system built on honor and fear and respect, instead of the shabby class-laws in the Union, where cowards ruled over villains.

And yet he felt too weak to fill the purpose Hakoda and the General had set before him. His uncle would have told him that was his strength - that he was not consumed with a self-destroying pride, not blinded by his own ego. But in Acchai it was a weakness. Zuko had to be confident.

"Do you believe you can do this, Zuko?"

"I guess... I don't think it matters if I do."

"It matters to us. And to Acchai. And to the world, for that matter."

"I'm not the Avatar, Chief," and Zuko grinned sadly, remembering Aang.

"And a good thing, too. I don't think Aang would have made a fitting ruler of Acchai, as powerful as he is."

Zuko tried to imagine Aang waging conquest over Acchai - but Avatar or not, Zuko knew there was no possible way Aang could fulfill that destiny. He was not the Acchain type, too kind, too merciful. Acchai would have broken him before long.

"So you think I can do it, then?" Zuko asked the Chief warily. The Chief sighed and put out his pipe.

"I think you should stop worrying about what others think of you. Start believing in your own capabilities."

There was muted sadness in Hakoda's eyes as he looked at Zuko, reminded so vividly of Sokka, his absent son.

"I've noticed the necklace around your wrist, you know."

His words made Zuko's heart stop. For the past few days he had worn Katara's necklace wrapped around his wrist, but it had been hidden slightly beneath his sleeve. He kept it there as a reminder of her, especially when Jeong-Jeong was drilling him particularly hard.

"...It was a gift," Zuko tried, but Hakoda only turned to give him one steely glare, that made even Zuko's hot blood run cold.

"_She_ is a gift. I hope you remember that."

Pipe-smoke drifted past the blinding blue of Hakoda's eyes, eerie in the still evening. Zuko felt his chest tighten uncomfortably, as he remembered the night in the Desert, when he had struggled so desperately against taking Katara to bed. When she had shown him light in the darkness, the despair of his love for Mai.

And here the iron gaze of her father, and he was remembering _that_ night. God dammit.

"I do."

Hakoda's eyes remained on him for one more unbearable moment. Then the Chief huffed, as though he'd decided to let it go for now; then he stood to leave.

"We've announced your Lordship to the caravan," Hakoda stood, putting out his pipe as he did so. "The people will come to you with their quarrels now. And thank you for the light."

He turned to leave, Zuko a little baffled at his words, and half-rising to come after him.

"Quarrels? What quarrels?"

--

The boy was ten years old. Zuko had been around this age when Lu Ten died.

"I bring this boy to you on behalf of a widow named Macmu-Ling. She wants you to deal him punishment," Zuko hated the cold, emotionless way Jeong-Jeong said it.

Macmu-Ling was a ferocious-looking women who had accompanied the boy to his judgment. Her hair was done up in a ridiculous bun that added about a foot to her height, all hung with tassels and ribbons in the most blindingly unattractive way. No inch of her face had escaped the brush of her make-up; her eyelids were a sickening bright blue, her blush like drops of blood, the rest of her so pale with powder it was ghostlike. Her green, satin-lined dress, and the gold chain around her neck, were so unfitting to the terrain and the style of the caravan she looked like a peacock parading amongst sparrows. Zuko immediately disliked her constantly drawn face and those piercing, unforgiving eyes, the way she turned up her nose at both him and the ragged boy.

The ten-year old looked as though he'd been fished out of the bottom of a barrel somewhere. His clothes were old and dirty and far too big for him, fingernails coated in dirt, feet twice as scummy; his messed hair looked like it had things growing in it. When he opened his mouth to speak, it was clear that some of his teeth had been knocked out, and there was a gaping hole between his two front ones.

"What has he done?" Zuko pitied the child. Jeong-Jeong's hand was so firm upon his collar that the boy could barely move, dark eyes like a wildfire, but body still.

"He was caught stealing."

"I didn' do nothin' -!"

The boy was silenced with the General's firm slap on the back of his head. He spat in angry pain and growled, but remained quiet, keeping his eyes to the ground. Zuko waited for the air to settle from the tension, Macmu-Ling's ees fixed upon him.

"Everyone steals from each other, General. You expect me to single him out?"

Zuko understood this concept from his time with the caravan in the desert. Oftentimes, servants of different soldiers would steal from one another, taking from those who had just that much more meat, or more camel feed, or more spice, or more firewood. They were all light-fingered at this, and though everyone knew it happened no one was ever caught, because no one found it necessary to look for the thief. You did what you must to get by in Acchai; and if other servants avoided stealing from you, it was because they were afraid of you - and that was one of the most dependable signs of respect. For example, no servant had ever stolen from Jeong-Jeong.

"It was not spices or wood he stole," the General seemed to read Zuko's mind. "He tried to take the wealth from this woman's neck. A gold chain of her household."

The little boy writhed in Jeong-Jeong's grip and muttered something that sounded vaguely hostile. The General only cast the boy a daggered look, then returned his gaze to Zuko. A bad feeling was creeping into the firebender, making his stomach feel a little sick.

"What would his punishment be?" he almost dreaded asking.

"As a Lord, you would take his hand."

The fire seemed to dim suddenly out of the boy at Jeong-Jeong's words, and his eyes snapped up imploringly towards Zuko. Zuko remained stone-faced; he was not about to betray weakness in the presence of this haughty widow and the General. Yet his hand shook on the hilt of his sword, and fear found its way into his heart.

The vision of a severed hand, of blood pouring from a wrist, of the young boy screaming, screaming -

"Release him for a moment," Zuko had to put forth effort to keep his voice from shaking.

As Jeong-Jeong glared at him, and slowly released the boy, Zuko tried to think of what his uncle would do. The boy was shaking with fear and regret, but the eyes of Macmu-Ling were glowing with fascination and accomplishment. It made Zuko feel abruptly sick, to see the glitter of a smile on that woman's face - and then suddenly he understood, understood completely, what had to be done. Gently, slowly, as though any quick movement would scare the boy off, Zuko bent down from his knees, until he was eye-level with him.

"What is your name, boy?" he asked quietly.

"What do you care?" snarled the boy, but there was so much fear in his eyes the vehemency of the statement was lost. He quailed when Zuko's gave hardened.

"Tell me your name," it was a command this time.

The boy swallowed, unable to keep eye-contact with Zuko for long, distracted by the massive scar encasing the left side of his face.

"Is... Lee. Lee of Tao Lin."

"Listen closely to me, Lee. I'm going to spare you your hand. But in return you will do everything I ask of you. You will be my servant, and I will be your Lord. And if ever I find you steal in this fashion again, or disobey my commands, or betray me in any way, I will relinquish this mercy and cut off your hand. Do you understand?"

The boy looked quizzically but hopefully at the firebender, as though trying to take in what he was saying. His eyes were wide and naive.

"I... I think so."

"You will refer to me as Lord or 'sir' from now on, Lee."

"Yes... yes sir. I understand, sir. Thank you, sir. Lord."

"Good," Zuko went back to standing, and Lee's eyes followed him this time, bright and thankful. "Your first task may be to tend to my steed. It is a stallion, roped somewhere near the General's steed. See it is fed and watered. Afterwards you can go to another servant of ours named Song, and she will give you work to do."

"I - I thank you, sir, yes," Lee gave a weird, halting bow, obviously not accustomed to that sort of thing, and bolted from the scene. Lee was desperate to get out of the General's shadow - but to Zuko amusement, he found it necessary to stick his tongue out defiantly at Macmu-Ling before disappearing behind the side of a cart.

"Sir - sir I demand you give him his proper punishment - !"

"If you wanted his hand so badly, you could have taken it yourself," Zuko snarled at the woman, who's mouth fell agape in surprise. Perhaps a day earlier she would have defied the young firebender's ruling, and told him off - but so imposing and deadly did Zuko look, hardened even by this first week alone with Jeong-Jeong and Hakoda, she dare not raise a complaint.

"You did not bring him to me for punishment," Zuko was realizing it even as he said it. "You brought him to humiliate him. I doubt very much, even, if he ever attempted to rob you. I want you out of my sight."

He waited for her to turn and leave, but Macmu-Ling hesitated - and at this defiance, Zuko felt a rage arise in him such as he had never felt before. The fury of rightful authority being denied.

"_Now!_" he roared it, drawing his dual blades with such an imposing _ring_ and Macmu-Ling squeaked in fear, turning to bolt from his presence.

The General had not flinched as Zuko's small eruption, nor at the way his sword glinted like fire in the light. Rather his eyebrows had creased together in a way that meant pain, for Zuko, was probably in the near future.

"That was foolish."

Zuko threw his swords into the sheath with such vehemency that they clanged, deafeningly, as he turned to confront the stone-faced, wild-eyed Jeong-Jeong.

"I will do what I must, but I will not hack off a child's hand, General - !"

"Mercy is a weakness in Acchai! Lords like Fong will devour you!"

"I will not exercise the same restraint on men like Fong," Zuko hissed into the General's face. Then he turned and walked away, seething, beneath the General's all-piercing gaze.

--

There were shadows under Jet's eyes.

He was looking out at the ruin that had once been the city of Tabuk. Azula's forces had swept through it like a storm of fire from heaven; all who did not join them were left as corpses in the street, dead bodies hung from burned tree-limbs. Her tactics had become ruthless and cunning ever since Smellerbee and Longshot's escape, since the murder of her captain.

"What are you doing out here?"

Azula's question was asked with less honey, less deceiving potency than she used to use with the disheveled man before her. She had little need of it nowadays; Jet's mind was far gone, swept and drowned in darkness and blood, eyes red-rimed with sleepless nights and the sight of death. She no longer had to persuade him. He was hers.

Yet he did not answer her. He never seemed to answer her, the first time; then again the only time she asked him any questions was when they were alone together, and the memories of that first night in the bottom cellars of the Abbey came flooding back. With other people around, Azula would perhaps send him a glance, or hiss the faintest order; but Jet could read her almost as well as she read him, and instead he was the quiet instrument of her will, the silent dagger at her side.

At the moment, however, his silence irritated her. Walking across the ruined balcony in that fluid, graceful, deadly way she had, Azula positioned himself close to his side. Jet did not move, nor give any notice of her presence beside him.

"Look at me, my warrior."

There was only a half-second of refusal on Jet's end nowadays; Azula had only to wait, patiently, for that glimpse in time before he obeyed her. And every time that black-eyed, shadowed man with the broken mind and murderous intent turned towards her, the rush of power and pleasure was overwhelming. As ravished as Jet had been with her devilry and beauty and her cunning, treacherous, bloody promises, moreso was she with his own raw capabilities. The drive and savagery of his nature astounded her; and in her need to overpower him, she found primal satisfaction.

Her crimson lips were tracing the edges of his mouth, a kiss full of lies. Jet shuddered, but could no longer recall why he did so. Forgotten why he loathed her so much.

"Have I not given you everything you wanted?" Azula purred.

"Yes."

Jet snarled against her, but she persuaded him to softer tones. Put a hand to his cheek, turned his head so he could look straight into the deceitful purity of her golden eyes.

"And do you love me?"

He knew what she wanted him to say. He did not have enough grasp on his own mind anymore, however, to know whether or not he agreed with it.

"...Yes."

Like proclaiming his own doom.

"And would you do anything for me?"

Azula had no interest in doom. Only in destiny.

"Yes."

"Then I need you to tell me," she lowered his lips to kiss the secret place below is jaw, and he groaned into her. Her whispers spread cold, hateful fire across his skin. "Have you heard anything from my brother?"

Jet's hands had found there way to Azula's waist, but at her words he paused his exploration. The mention of Zuko made a faint, distant light pierce his clouded mind. But it was not enough to overcome the darkness that now filled him, and the shadows consumed it almost as swiftly as it came.

"No," Jet wasn't looking at Azula again; he was looking past her, confused, unsure. "Why... why do you care about that?"

"I've told you once before," and now she was thoroughly distracting him, as she slid her hands low across his belt-line, and deepened the intensity of her kisses in his neck. "It's not about him. It's about Acchai. We'll just remind him where his loyalties lie."

Jet kissed her, hungrily, angrily. Doubt clouded his mind, but he couldn't remember why he doubted. Something about Zuko... about Acchai. Something about the truth.

But he couldn't grasp it. Bright, gold eyes and pale skin. Endless black hair. A twisted, wicked sort of smile, and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Fire in the distance. Fate's eyes watching sadly amidst red flame. Bodies swinging in the breeze.

Lips like honey-flavored venom.

Mai was sharpening her daggers as they paused for the night, before moving on the next morning across the Shi River. She worked emotionlessly and studiously, as she always did; with perfect calculation she slid the small blades across the stone, a shrill and satisfying ring each time she did so.

The room was dark, and her back was to the doorway. She could not possibly see Zhanu as he stood there, looming, devouring her frame with his eyes. He was on the hunter's path, and he was rushed with desire. Mai must have felt his gaze there, so strong-willed and terrible.

"Are you just going to stare at me all night?"

A very unpleasant grin spread across his face. Her monotone voice was uncharacteristically arousing to him; so emotionless was she, that he wanted nothing more than to inspire her with unwilling feeling, whatever feeling it may be - love, hate, fear. She was the challenge he could seek his entire life and never grow tired of. And when he finally broke her, finally made her scream, in pleasure or in pain, he would be filled.

"...I certainly hope not."

He pressed his lips to her perfectly pale neck, brushed a few locks of her black hair aside. She stiffened, unused to the feeling of lips against her skin.

"...I'm not in the mood for this, Zhanu."

She pushed away from him in a passive, unconcerned way, and crossed the room to where an array of her weapons were lain out, half of them sharpened, half of them dull. Some still had a bloodstain or two on them; it was these she rose into the light to examine, to wipe away the marks with her black clothe. Zhanu followed her, eyes still full of the hunt, blood pumping fiercely.

"You're never in the mood for much. But I like it."

He kissed her neck again, confidently this time. She paused, looked as though she would deny him; but his arm had snaked around her waist, and he was pulling her into him. She hesitated; the feeling of his body behind her was a little intoxicating, the brilliantly sensual way his lips massaged her flesh. She hesitated, and he knew she hesitated.

His hands slid across her stomach, then briefly upwards, just below her breast. He did not, however, attempt to grasp them; rather he deepened the kisses in her neck, bit gently down on the edge of her shoulder, and she was still hesitating, still unsure of what to do. He took advantage of her uncertainty - and slid his hands down over her stomach, lower, and lower, down desperately into the secrets between her smooth, endless legs.

"Zhanu!"

It was the first time he'd heard any passion in her voice; but in a moment she was calm again, away from him, facing him. There was only the faintest look of discomfort in her eyes, a brief pink flush to her cheeks.

"I must get back to work, if you please."

Her voice was uneven, and Zhanu heard it. He retreated slowly, triumphantly from her, face glowing with victory.

"You do want it, Mai," and there was terrible truth to his words, a confidence in his eye. "...And I will have you."

He left grinning, ready to resume the hunt tomorrow.

Mai stared at the doorway long after he had gone. Her eyes were unreadable.

--

"Are you the Lord Zuko?"

Zuko was eating breakfast when the man approached him. He was not in full armor yet, as Hakoda had not yet been able to obtain some for him. Styled roughly in the fashion of Jeong-Jeong's, he had only his leg paddings and plates, and without upper-body armor he looked all the more vulnerable with a bared chest.

The man who addressed him, however, was in full armor - ancient armor, it seemed, an obviously poor soldier - but armor nonetheless. Two other men stood beyond him; one man was taller and larger than any warrior Zuko had ever seen, a literal tank of a man, looking like he could uproot a mountain. The other was old and gray-haired, and seemed half-blind, the way he held onto the previous man's massive bicep.

Zuko stopped chewing his food to examine the first man. Lee was beside him, grinning his gape-toothed grin with such confidence that even Zuko felt a little less worried by the presence of these three strange men. Jeong-Jeong, however, stood instantly, and Hakoda put his plate aside. Song stepped away obediently at the General's command.

"I am," Zuko had never been called Lord until this point, and it made him feel unpleasantly powerful.

"My brother tells me you spared him the thief's punishment," the man had a longsword at his side, which Zuko noticed casually. Feeling as though this visit had an equal chance of heralding good or bad tidings, he decided not to stand, though he answered the man's questions honestly.

"His punishment is to serve me in my endeavor. I spared him his hand in exchange for this."

The man nodded, cast a glance at his brother. Lee beamed first at him, and then at Zuko; and Zuko couldn't help but smile at the boy's growing adoration for him.

"Then I thank you. My brother is no thief - but still, I thank you. Few people have shown our family such kindness."

Zuko nodded as the man bowed to him, but was surprised to find he did not immediately go away. A few moment passed in uncomfortable silence; the man, no older than Zuko himself, seemed unsure of what to say next. It was Hakoda, with more understanding of his fellow man than either Jeong-Jeong or Zuko, that finally spoke to the uncertain soldier.

"Is that all you came to say?"

"N - No," the ma seemed very grateful for Hakoda's intervention, then turned back to address Zuko. "My Lord - my companion and I would be honored to serve the one who showed mercy upon my blood. I have tried to serve two Lords of Acchai already, and neither of them I found as befitting of respect."

"Really?" this was something no one had expected. Even Jeong-Jeong raised his eyebrows. "And why is that?"

"One of them sold his son into slavery for gold," the brother of Lee consented, his face hardened. "The other killed our mother, Sela."

Zuko felt his heart rush in the direction of his mother, and suddenly felt an odd bond with the two brothers. Lee was still looking hopefully between the two of them as the Lord of Agni stood, face darkened with honest sorrow at the man's words.

"I'm sorry. What are your names?"

Zuko's question seemed to make all the shadow go out of the man's face, brightened at the prospect of the Lord's approval.

"I am Sen Su, Lee's brother. This is Kouki, but we call him Pipsqueak."

"And who is the old man behind you?"

"My father, Gow. He is a great blacksmith. We'd hope he could serve you."

"Blacksmith?" Hakoda asked abruptly, crossing is arms as he examined the old man. "Do you make armor?"

"Such armor as is unequaled in Acchai, my Lord," Gow proclaimed, though he could not quite look at Hakoda as he said, blind with age. Pipsqueak smiled fondly at the old man's declaration, though he himself said nothing. Zuko examined them all for a moment, trying not to look ecstatic at the though these men, of their own free will, had decided to serve beneath him.

"Song? Song!"

Song came bustling back from the fire and their brekfast to tend to her Zuko, who had replaced Fong as her master. Song much preferred this firebender over the Lord of Al-Abhad, not only because he was friends with Hakoda and her long-time companions Toph and Katara, but because there was a certain intriguing aspect to his character that delighted her. Zuko had no knowledge of her infatuation with him, however, and though he treated her civilly, she was still a servant. Jeong-Jeong had made sure that Zuko have a least this appearance of a Lord in regards to his behavior around Song.

"These men are to be soldiers beneath me. See to it they are outfitted equal to Jeong-Jeong's men. But first, take the older man, Gow, and bring him what supplies he asks for. He will be making my armor. Lee - you can accompany them, too."

"Yes, me Lord," Song nodded, and took Gow's aged hand, leading him from the group, with Lee smiling at their heels.

As the two bustled away together, an awkward moment passed with Pipsqueak and Sen Su facing the Lord, the General, and the Chief. Then Zuko finally gestured for them to take breakfast, as Song had made quite a feast for them anyway. Sen Su bowed and agreed, and then sat fearlessly and eagerly beside the firebender, which impressed him immensely. As they gathered their own bowls and began spooning rice from the pot, Hakoda and Jeong-Jeong returned to some previous conversation they were having, bout the most effective way of killing a mole-bear. This conversation had not involved Zuko, who sat in silence beside an overeager Sen Su.

"Who is the woman?" everyone could tell that Sen Su was just trying to strike up conversation, but Zuko didn't understand right away.

"What?"

Sen Su gestured towards the necklace Zuko had wrapped tight around his wrist. Hakoda glared intensely at the firebender over his breakfast as Zuko ran his fingers across the gem, and Zuko felt his gaze more intense than he felt the sunrise.

"A gift..."

--

BTW: An average tiger can reach up to 13 ft. and 660 pounds.

Oh, bother. But whatever are Katara and Aang and Toph and Sokka and Suki up too? What a mouthful.

Sen Su and Zuko BFF


	4. The Aurora Tribe

The_ Kuruk_ was stuck.

This, in itself, had not surprised Sokka - in fact he had more than expected it. What _had_ astounded Sokka was how thoroughly and irreparably the boat had managed to find it's way into the crawling, creeping sheets of ice that had steadily consumed the open water, without any hope of escape.

Before the bow of the ship, there stood the gorgeous figurehead of a rather shabbily-clad mermaid (her indecency, though, was covered with a number of barnacles dropped off by some lone whale). Her sightless face was several feet from a sheer wall of glacier ice, stopped only by the massive beam of wood that jutted forth above her head. The hull of the ship was half-way submerged beneath rolling sheets of ice, packed harder than iron and glued so tight together that barely the faintest crack showed through. All around the ship the ice stretched like glass, both before and behind, closing in around them in an explicably impenetrable fashion. In the middle of this frozen desert, the _Kuruk_ was a black dot against endless white, the ice-plains all windswept and impossible to navigate, mocking in its perpetuity.

The air was harsh and stinging against any barren skin, but luckily it was not snowing. Sokka was slouched unhappily on the railing of the ship, despite the fact the entire vessel was coated in frost and his chin would probably be stuck to the wood soon. Suki was standing beside them, and in an effort to keep out the cold they had both dawned great bear-coats and sealskin boots, great bundles of fur and leather against the wind. The temperature had hovered at about ten degrees above zero for awhile, but it was beginning to drop as time went on, which only worsened the intensity of the ice flow.

On top of everything, a great curtain of dark clouds was rolling from the northwest, an ill foreboding of a snowstorm to come. Sokka's annoyance level was inflating as every motionless moment passed, as though he was steadily expanding balloon.

"This is unbelievable..." he snarled to himself. Suki put a hand on his shoulder and rubbed it gently, an uncertain attempt to comfort.

"I'm sure Captain Chong is figuring something out, Sokka," she tried to assure him.

Captain Chong, however, seemed blissfully unaware that the forces of nature were working so tirelessly against him. In fact, he had just happened upon deck with his arm around his wife, leaving her simply to sidle up alongside the Prince and peer over the edge of the _Kuruk_.

"Hey!" Chong peered over the side of the ship, and seemed honestly surprised at the immobility of his vessel. "Look at that! That could be a problem, man."

Like a Sokka-shaped balloon and a very sharp, Chong-shaped needle.

"No. _Really_?" Sokka's lip twitched.

"Sokka," Suki hissed alongside to the Prince. Sokka groaned and slammed his forehead onto the railing.

At that moment, Toph came up the stairs, clinging blindly and angrily to the railing. Katara was behind her, but the earthbender had flatly refused her sister's help in climbing the stairs. Normally this would have put the waterbender in a bad mood, but Katara had been uncharacteristically numb lately, and understood, to some extent, the feeling of helplessness her sister was enduring. It was unbelievably frustrating for someone like Toph.

Aang knew of Toph's independent nature, but nonetheless he watched her apprehensively as she mounted the steps, her feet unsure for the first time ever. Her uncertainty seemed well placed; at the last stair, she raised her foot and over-compensated, her foot coming down wildly through that air. Aang saw it happen like it was in slow-motion; airbending himself towards her, fast as lightning, he caught her before she could split her chin on the wooden dock, before she could even utter a cry of surprise. His rescue of her, however, was short-lived, as she pushed roughly away.

"You alrigh'?" tried the Avatar, in the kindest, most apologetic voice he could manage.

"I'm fine," Toph spat, but she did not entirely let go of Aang's shirt. There was an ashamed look in her face, that made Aang feel dirty for having helped her.

"I know you's is real strong an' all, Toph," said Aang cautiously. "We all know, y'see, 'ow strong y'are. But you gotta' 'ave some 'elp for righ' now -"

"It's fine, Aang. Besides, what's going on?" Toph evaded Aang's words by effectively changing the subject. "Why aren't we moving? Even I can tell we're not doing that."

"...Got a bit stuck in th' ice, is all," Aang chanced a very worried glance at Katara, as Toph wrapped her arm around his. "Is ice every place, y'see. We'll have a hell of a time tryin' to get out, see. 'Ey! where's Zuko when ya' need 'im? Heh."

Katara felt her chest tighten a little at Aang's words. She looked upwards and realized she couldn't find the sun - the sky was too overcast. She wondered what the weather was in Acchai.

"'Ey! Crew-mates!" Chong put his arm back around Lily with a very undeserved, triumphant air that made a vein in Sokka's forehead stick out. "No worries! We've got a plan, we do?"

"Great," Suki sighed in relief, until Chong and Lily both whipped out about four ice picks and held them out, generously, to the passengers assembled on deck. Everyone knew what that meant, even before lily said anything, and the idea of it was devastating.

"Everybody grab a pick! Don't be shy!"

And the prospect of hacking their way out of this tundra-like ice flow was enough make Sokka slap himself so hard, he fell over.

For several hours, then, they were at work, hacking wildly at the ice coating the ships sides, trying to ignore the fact it was freezing faster than it was chipping away. It was an altogether futile sort of plan, even with Katara waterbending big chunks of ice away from the front of ship. The sad fact that no one seemed to notice (besides Sokka, who only grumbled about it fleetingly) was that the ice wasn't just _in front_ of the boat - it was _everywhere_. It had completely enclosed the ship like bricks of cement, and no matter how many hands they had hammering away at it, they'd never get out in time - especially before the storm hit.

Sokka found it very important to point this out every half-hour or so, but Chong happily ignored his comments. At about the third hour mark, however, Sokka was growing considerably irritable, and it was taking Suki a lot of effort to keep him calm.

"This isn't, fucking, _working_," he breathed, before throwing his shoulder into a particularly angry blow. The ice shuddered beneath him, but hardly cracked.

"Relax, gloomy-man. We'll get out!" Chong said cheerily, and Sokka snarled.

"Yeah, we'll get out alright. We'll just have to leave the boat and _walk_ to the North Pole..."

"He knows what he's doing, Sokka," Suki tried to convince him. Sokka grumbled and slammed his pick back into the ice.

"Why is everyone putting so much trust in this guy? Seriously? If you met him on the street, would you trust him?"

"_Sokka!_"

"See? That's a no."

Suki was resisting the urge to slap Sokka when Katara made another futile waterbending strike against the ice flow. The ice parted momentarily before her feet, but in moments was replaced again by new sheets, as tough and unforgiving as the previous. It was weary and endless work, and Katara had not managed to get the boat moved even a few inches forward. Mother nature, it seemed, was almost mocking her spiritual talent. _And you thought you were a waterbender! Ha!_

"I'm not good enough, Lily," Katara gasped, bending over to clutch her knees. The combination of the endless cold, and the physical and spiritual strain of hacking her way through layers and layers of ice, was taking its tole on her. She was not yet trained enough to harness her energies in a way that would best part the ice; in fact, she was bending against the current, and that was only weakening her more.

"Oh dear, you're doing wonderfully! Don't get discouraged!" Lily tried to encourage her, from her place shoveling beside Suki.

Katara sighed at Lily's attitude. The woman was bright and positive, but Katara did not quite feel in the mood for that. She was cold and tired, and incapable of aiding them in their hour of need.

_Where's Zuko when ya' need 'im?_

But before she could stray into that despairing line of thought, she felt the ice tremble beneath her in a way that did not come from her, nor the movement of the ship. Even Toph felt it, if only briefly, as it shook the soles of her sealskin boots. As Katara stared strangely at the ice beneath her feet, Toph dropped her pick and crept blindly away towards her, worried and fearful for one of the first times in her life.

"Katara? Katara, where are you?"

"Here, Toph, right here -"

As Toph scrabbled at her sister's cloak, another tremor went through the ice. It was more noticeable this time; Sokka and Aang both stopped working for a moment, looking down at the packed ice beneath their feet. For a long moment, though, nothing else happened; and thinking it was probably just a blue whale passing underneath them, Sokka encouraged Aang to resume to work. Chips of ice flew up into the air, and Katara looked out apprehensively at the white plain before them.

It was not long until a speck of black caught her eye, and she was staring intently at one spot on the ice, a few yards in front of them. At first, she thought perhaps some polar creature had made a hole in the ice to come up for air - a tiger-seal, or white otter, or something of that nature. However, after a few moments, she began to notice that nothing was poking upwards through the ice - the hole had just appeared, suddenly, inexplicably. It gave her an ominous and uncomfortable feeling.

"What is that?"

"What? Where?" Toph took hold of her sister's arm suddenly, uncertainly.

Then the hole in the ice began to move, to swirl, to grow, and Katara felt her confidence slip away. With each passing moment, the edge of the chasm crept towards their feet and suddenly fear strangled her; grabbing Toph blindly, she turned to run, but only slipped hard on the packed ice, pulling the earthbender with her.

"Katara - !"

A rush of water exploded from the hole at their feet. Instinctively, Katara spun and clutched a shocked Toph, to her to shield her from the cold geisure; water trickled down onto her back, but not nearly as much as the flood she had expected. When the sound of rushing water dimmed behind her, and she heard Sokka's voice calling out, loudly and worriedly, towards where they were, she decided to turn and look at what creature had confronted them.

But when she stood back up, the hole in the ice was gone, and the ice was whole again. What ha taken place of a massive, whale-like creature in Katara's mind, was instead about a dozen-or-so savage looking soldiers in blue and black armor, their faces hidden beneath wolf-like helmets. A man stood before all of them, and he alone had his head uncovered; his long, white hair was tucked back in a ponytail, though he was all bald on top, and he had a lined mustache and beard similar to Jeong-Jeong's. But whereas Jeong-Jeong was ferocious and terrible, this man only seemed annoyed and petty.

For a long time Katara stared at him and his soldiers, as did everyone near the boat. The man seemed to disregard all of them fairly easily, looking at the immobile state of the _Kuruk_ rather critically.

"...Sir?"

"Yes?" the man looked at Katara with a raised eyebrow, as though she had interrupted something very important. She instantly disliked him.

"Sir... are you here to help us?"

"That depends," the man was not even looking at the two girls; he was studying the state of the ship, and glancing every now and then towards the three men assembled at the base of the hull. Sokka, Aang and Chong were staring dumbly at the men who had risen from the ice, Sokka too tired to even run to his sister's aid. Katara stared incredulously at the stone-faced man, and then resumed her pleas for help.

"Please, you see what happened was, we got stuck in the ice -"

"I'm aware of you're situation. I do have _eyes_."

The man brushed passed Katara like she was just child, striding straight towards where Sokka and Chong stood with their ice picks. The brisk, disapproving way he overlooked her made a very feminine fury erupt suddenly in Katara's heart, and judging by the way Toph's grip tightened on her arm, she was seething too.

"Who the _hell_ is _he_?" spat the earthbender disdainfully.

"Are you the Prince Sokka?" the man stopped before Sokka and brushed a few flakes of gathering snow from his jacket. Sokka, still a little out of breathe from the work, glanced at a confused-looking Chong before replying, unsurely:

"I... guess so."

"You _guess_ so?" said the man sourly, then added: "If you're unaware of who you are, simply state so, and that way we can move through this a lot quicker."

"...Yeah, I'm the Prince," Sokka stated foully. The man's attitude was rubbing them all the wrong way.

"Good. And you there, waterbender! You were doing a poor job in breaking that ice. You need to put less into your shoulder."

And with that the man leapt, did a complicated slicing movement in mid-air, and came down hard on the white surface before the ship. The ice hissed, cracked, broke and separate like a bomb had torn through it; suddenly they could all see the dark blues waves beneath the blinding white ice, and the older man was turning back to climb into the ship, completely disregarding the astounded faces of the present company. The warriors followed him onto the _Kuruk_ without hesitation.

"I suggest you get everyone back on your ship, if you plan on bringing them to the Tribe, Captain," the man spat towards a very bewildered-looking Fong. Katara took a moment to glare at his haughty form, and then took Toph roughly by the hand to drag her back to the ship.

"Who is _he_? And why's he such a _dick_?"

"I don't know. But I really hope we don't have to see him again after this."

The ride the Aurora Tribe, after that, was unhappy and tense. The man had not bothered giving any of them his name, and no one (not even Aang) liked him enough to ask for it. Some of the warriors, however, struck up a little conversation with the Prince, and seemed a little more agreeable. They explained that they were one of a few parties sent out to intercept them, at the command in a letter sent by Sokka's father. The entire Aurora Tribe was expecting their arrival with much anticipated glee, especially at the idea of both their Chief's son, as well as the Avatar, arriving among them. Sokka managed to steer the conversation away into matters of weaponry and battle tactics, as with each mention of the Avatar the warriors looked pointedly at Aang, as though expecting him to say something. Aang, however, was starting to feel unwell, and for his sake Sokka directed the soldier's attention away, however briefly.

Yet when they saw the gates to the Aurora Tribe, the malcontent melted away, and they were astonished. Two tall, jagged glaciers, hundred of feet up, marked either side of the entrance to the Tribe's city; they were carven with pictures and characters of the Tribes entire history, mentions of spirits and benders and battles, of Yin and Yang, of the forgiveness and charity of the moon. The middle was bared with several gate of solid ice, that were bent open when the man at the helm raised his hand towards their keepers. A they passed between the long tunnel made between glaciers, Sokka noticed lines of names inscribed into their walls; names of Chiefs, in Nine different categories, all with a picture of an animal atop them.

Then they entered the city, and everything became chaos. Great pillars and walls of ice loomed around them; balconies and platforms and bridges, all overlapping in ever-growing towers of ice, and all of them loaded with people. Crowds of excited civilians screamed down at the ship from ever height and angle; people threw colored beads and shimmering silver dust into the air, to cover the _Kuruk _and it's passengers. mothers and fathers held up their children so they could catch sight of the Prince, and the Avatar; warriors were waving their spears in the air to signal their lost Prince, though Sokka knew nothing of how to return their gestures. By a team of waterbenders, the boat was guided swiftly through a maze of waterways, all of them as coated with people as the front paths had been; people ran after the boat in groups, tumbling into the water whenever a road became too overcrowded. It was pandemonium that followed the _Kuruk, _though their hosts seemed very unconcerned with it.

"This is where I leave you," the sour, waterbending man said, and hopped nimbly off the boat, propelling himself to shore.

"Good riddance," Toph muttered under her breathe, and Katara had to agree with her. Now if only the crowds following the boat would go, they would have a bit of privacy and normalcy back.

But when the boat docked, the crowds had not thinned - rather they had multiplied, and the pathway to the Speaking Hall was overrun with civilians. Sokka stepped off the boat first, and immediately all the women closest to him fell upon their knees and began to praise Tui and La, and the River-Daughters. The Prince stood dumbfounded as young men, hardly as old as himself, fought their way through the crowds, trying to offer up their blades and clubs and boomerangs into his service, swearing their lives on Sokka and his great father, Hakoda. Older men begged for news of the missing Chieftain, but Sokka knew less than they, and answered only with a dumbfounded looks. Suki clung instinctively to the Prince, and this must have encouraged the people to think they were soon-to-be betrothed. Women congratulated her in languages she couldn't understand; men took one look at her gorgeous face and called their approval to the Prince Sokka. Both of their faces were flushed red by the time the procession was ended.

Katara was helping Toph off the boat when another section of the audience bustled towards her; older women with baskets of food and clothe and healing herbs, beautiful hand-woven dresses, fur pelts and sealskin slippers. Precious, tinkling blue-glass jewelry was in the hands of those rich enough to afford such costly presents, along with rare bottles of blessed water, earrings and silver bowls. Toph gripped tightly to her sister as uncountable presents were laid at their feet; multi-colored blankets, slabs of carven coral, strings of fish and eel. Katara nearly tripped over a long, braided headdress of startling, sapphire hawk-feathers; a ring was slipped onto one of Toph's fingers against her will, and when she took it of in surprise there was a wail of disappointment from someone in the audience.

Then Aang stepped off the boat, and the crowds erupted.

Women screamed until their voices grew hoarse. Men banged deep, hollow drums and blew great ram-horns. Banners flew suddenly in the crowds, marked with symbols that would have utterly offended anyone in the Union or the Empire; the three swirls of the long-lost Airbending Nation, the arrow of the Avatar, the words "Unity" and "Peace" written in three languages. Children threw glittering silver dust into the air and it shimmered around the Avatar, who stared mutely and sickly at the elated crowds, until Katara had to reach back and drag him forward.

The dozen or so warriors amongst them had a difficult time keeping the public at bay. The dangers loomed anywhere from a raving drunk to an adolescent girl, lovesick for the new Prince; Katara and Toph had their hands full trying to deny the presents being placed at their feet all along the way; and even before the warriors could separate the crowds from the guests, a tiny toddler girl had thrust a miniature ice-flower into Katara's hands. Before Katara could attempt to return the tiny trinket, the guards were pushing them past the crying multitudes and into the Speaking Hall, a giant dome-shaped room made entirely of carven ice.

It was like a cavern in an ice-glacier, more than a room in a city. A thousand candles had been lit around its edges, and their reflections across ice and glass had made the room bright as day, and twice as beautiful. Rainbows arched in the ceiling, where murals of gods and goddesses and spirits were painted in abundance, eerie and beautiful against the row of colors.

Suki stopped dead as soon as they crossed the threshold, and as a result so did Sokka and the rest of the progression. The warriors gestured, as meekly as he could, for Sokka to keep moving; the Prince tugged in vain at Suki's arm, the Kyoshi-Shaman's eyes risen and fixed on the great, dome-shaped ceiling.

"Come _on_, Suki," Sokka whispered to her, tugging again at her arm and dragging her forward a few steps. Suki only gripped his arm in a tight, terrified way that made the Prince stop short and look at her, really look at her, and read the fear on her face.

"Sokka," her voice was small and cold. Sokka felt his heart beat in distant, dangerous way.

"What, Suki?"

"It's _her_."

Sokka followed her line of sight to the ceiling, where he saw the most beautiful mural he had ever laid eyes on.

Her face was set in a sad, but triumphant expression, eyes like the reflection of a clear wave. Her brilliant white hair spread around her in a flourishing, fantastic design, blending oddly with the flowing fabric of her dress. The moon glowed behind her head, more heavenly than a halo; against the icy backdrop of the ceiling she was a goddess, an unearthly reflection of beauty in the times when spirits still strode the earth, undisguised. It distracted Sokka for one long, heart-breaking moment, as the warriors grew a little impatient and finally hissed to get him moving.

"I can't be here - I can't -" Suki started to retreat, staring up at the fixed, gentle eyes of the Moon Spirit, but Sokka stopped her.

"It's just Yue, Suki... come on, you've never seen the Moon Spirit before...?"

If not for Sokka's sheer force of will, and his hand on her upper arm, Suki may have turned and bolted. As it was, he half-dragged her forwards onto the stage before them, following the instruction of the warriors. Eight men sat on either side, with one chair in the middle empty; before Sokka could wonder why this chair was vacant, he was looking out over the edge of the stage and down about fifty feet, where the crowds ad re-gathered in the Hall.

It was packed and deafening. The drums and singing voices from outside, once brought within the arching dome of this room, reverberated and repeated and became a mess of jovial noise. Warriors were standing on raised platforms above the crowd, signing with their spears for the crowd to quiet down. The five confused newcomers stood awkwardly on the stage, staring out fearfully at the elated multitude. It took a good ten minutes for the audience to quiet, and in that time Sokka had looked around desperately at all the eight faces assembled on the stage. None of them returned any sign of greeting, besides identical smiles; only the last man stood to answer Sokka's silent call for help.

He had a long, but strong face, and a hairstyle similar to that of Sokka's father. He was wearing a mole-bear cloak that, while far smaller than Jeong-Jeong's and less imposing, was still very impressive. Sokka saw the creases of age and wisdom on his face and started to feel more at ease.

"I am Chief Arnook, of the Bear Clan. We welcome you gratefully to the Aurora Tribe, Prince Sokka."

The crowds erupted again, but this time Arnook raised his hand, and they clamed much faster. Sokka felt his mouth go very dry.

"...Chief?" It was the only thing Sokka could manage to say. He was not used to having hundreds of adoring, obedient eyes fixed so intently on him, unused to the admiration and respect. He was used to the heat and danger of Acchai, the scowl of soldiers, the ever-changing loyalties. The calm, collected state of these people was unusual to him.

"Yes," Arnook smiled encouragingly, aware of the Acchain style armor Sokka wore under his fur-lined cloak, the savage line of his face. Aware he knew nothing of his heritage. "When the clans united some hundred years ago, the Chiefs of the Wolf Clan were chosen to lead us. The clan of you're father - and you're own."

"...I see."

The seven other elder men assembled around Arnook suddenly made more sense, when Arnook mentioned the other Clans. Sokka had never heard of the division of Clans amongst the people of the North, nor had his father seemed it fitting to mention what their own Clan was. Not that his father had said much to him, anyways.

"And whom do you bring with you?" Arnook nodded towards Sokka's companions.

"Oh... I -" Sokka had completely forgot about Suki, and his sisters, and Aang. He turned haltingly towards Suki first, who looked positively petrified, made to stand on stage beside him before this entire staring crowd. That, and the looming mural of the white-haired woman hovering above them, worse than a ghost.

"This is Suki - Lady Suki," he gave an apologetic shrug when she looked at him weirdly. "She is... a Kyoshi-Shaman. From the far south."

Arnook inclined his head respectfully, taking Suki's hand in a gracious, gentlemanly way. Nothing, however, could assure Suki beneath the massive, staring picture of the white-haired woman above them. Her hand shook in Arnook's as he placed his forehead against it, but ever the good host, the Chief made no sign he had felt her uncertainty.

"And... my sisters... Katara, and Toph -"

"Princesses of the Aurora Tribe," Arnook bowed to them each in turn, and took their hands as he had taken Suki's. "Your grace is a light to the plight of our people."

"Plight?" Katara breathed, but Arnook had already turned to look, finally upon a very awkward and uncomfortable-looking airbender.

"And...and that's Aang," Sokka announced, a little bit louder, as though to get Aang to listen too. "The Avatar."

"Avatar Aang... it is the Aurora Tribe's greatest honor, to have you among us."

And then Arnook did something Aang did not expect. He lowered himself to his knees, and pressed his forehead to the icy floor.

The entire multitude obediently followed suit. First the other Chiefs stood from their chairs and bowed themselves (stiffly, for many of them were well aged), and their wives alongside, and outward and outward in a wave-like motion, until the entire hall bowed before the Avatar. Young and old alike went their lowest to show reverence, black and white and gray hair spread upon the floor, eyes staring willingly into the ground.

A very mocking, terrible silence enclosed Aang. Then a fleeting, inexplicable thought occurred to him; a death-pale face with blood-red lips, laughing, high and cruel and cold.

By the time the vision had passed, Chief Arnook was rising to his feet again. Aang had a sudden feeling like he was going to be sick.

"Aang... say something," Sokka hissed sideways to the Avatar. All eyes in the room were fixed on him, expectantly.

White teeth again charred black, living red. Dismembered corpses. The smell.

"Than' - Thank you," it was all he could say, before he blurted out: "But I can't - can't take such kind - a' mean, you's all, thinkin' I'm... I'm so great, an' all... but -"

"Chief Arnook," Sokka put a supportive hand on Aang's shoulder, which silenced Aang instantly and gratefully. "I think what Aa - what the Avatar means, is that we are very tired from our journey, and, um -"

"Of course," Arnook saved Sokka before he could make himself look like a fool, and then turned for a moment back to Aang. "Tomorrow I will introduce you to Master Pakku, and Guru Pathik, Avatar Aang. You may begin you're waterbending training at that time."

"Yeah..." Aang felt very hollow and fake. But something still pierced the back of his mind, and even as Arnook turned to dismiss them, he blurted out: "Wait! Ka - Katara. Wha' about 'er?"

"Princess Katara?" Arnook turned to look at her, which made Katara's cheeks flush deeply.

"Yeah... she a waterbender, y'know, Sa'."

"Ah! Very good. You can study beneath Master Pakku too, if you wish," he inclined his head to her again with a friendly smile.

"Yes... thank you," it was all she could manage.

She was still holding the tiny ice-flower the toddler had given her. It was starting to melt from the embarrassed heat of her hands.

--

"This is Kimba. She'll be in class with you and Pakku. Right now, however, she'll do the favor of showing you to your rooms."

Kimba bowed very graciously, Katara noticing in a strange, akin sort of way that their hair was of the same glossy, deep brown hue. Sokka and Aang had already been led away by a male hos; now it was there turn. Kimba was a pretty, caramel-skinned girl a bit lighter than Katara, with one long braid and hair-lops similar to Katara's. The way she was not wearing the niqab had not escaped any of their notices; in fact, both Katara and Toph were feeling very self-conscious about their head coverings, but dare not attempt to remove them beneath the shadow of their brother. Katara even wondered, as Kimba led them to their rooms, what these Aurora Tribe women thought of the head-covering.

"Your mother - was she part of the Turtle Clan?"

Kimba's words surprised Katara out of her thoughts. She looked oddly at the girl, not really catching what she had asked her.

"What?"

Kimba smiled in a way that made Katara feel a little less apprehensive, and then pointed to a blue gem at her neck. It was carven into the vague shape of a bear and a flower, and suddenly Katara was vividly reminded of that night on the docks.

Dark hair brushing against her forehead. The intensity of his lips on her, his arms encasing her. Slipping a cold blue necklace into his heated hand.

"I'm of the Bear Clan - many of us have darker eyes," Kimba was explaining. "But women of the Turtle Clan - they often have blue eyes, like you. The Beaver Clan too."

"I... I don't know," Katara answered honestly, looking down at her feet.

"I don't know if I want to look like a turtle or a beaver," Toph noted blandly, and Kimba laughed.

They walked down a side-hall near the Speaking Chamber, that had a sign above it in a Tribe language. None of them could read it, but Kimba said it meant "women's quarters". Katara was happy to learn that, like in Acchai, men's and women's rooms were still not allowed to be too close to each other. Kimba led them to a large ivory door, enscripted with more characters in a foriegn tongue, and gestured for the sisters to enter.

"You will have to share a room," Kimba said it a little apologetically to Katara and Toph. "We don't have much to space to spare. There aren't as many waterbenders, nowadays, to help with renovations... Lady Suki, your room is this way."

"Please, don't call me Lady," Suki said uncomfortably. She still looked very uneasy and apprehensive, and it was bothering Katara; for the first time she began to really question this Kyoshi-Shaman from the south, who had such dramatic reactions to simple murals of Moon Spirits.

The room was comfortable, the ice-floor completely covered in carpet and blankets to ward off cold, the beds a mountain of fur. On one end of the room, a fire was burning lowly, to keep the space at a reasonable temperature. In an adjoining room, an ivory bathtub was placed precariously over another low fire, to keep the water warm for the guests; various lotions and shampoos were assembled around it's edges, with hooks on the walls for towels and clothing. Bed-clothes had been left in this bathing room for them, but they were unlike any bed clothes Katara had ever seen; all of them were thick and fury, and looked uncomfortably warm. Unable to speak much, they took their baths in turns, though Katara went first, so that she could aid Toph when she needed help discerning the shampoo from the soap.

They undid each other's hair before getting in bed, as they had done every night since they were old enough to say each other's names. In this one endeavor, Katara knew Toph could still feel capable - she had never needed the vibrations in the earth to know how to undo Katara's bun and braids and loops. Usually they would go on talking about their day as they did this, as it took some time to finish properly - and this day, unlike many of their days at Al-Abhad, had been a seriously eventful one. But neither of them seemed able to speak.

So in silence they undid each other's hair, and in silence they readied for bed. The huge glass and ice archways of the room were covered in furs and blankets to mute the reflections of the firelight. The flames burned low on the hearth as they moved to their separate mattresses; it would be out by morning.

"I'm going to _hate_ it here."

Toph said it as she slid her feet under the covers. She was still wearing socks, as Sokka had commanded her - otherwise her feet might freeze.

"It won't be that bad, Toph," even though Katara was already starting to feel like a crow amongst bluebirds in this foreign Tribe. "It'll just... take some getting used to."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You like the cold. You're going to be trained by a Master. You can _see _where you're _going_."

"Toph... come on," Katara sat up in her bed and looked across the dim room at her sister. The waterbender had half a mind to walk over and embrace the poor girl, as she had done so many times before in the gardens of Al-Abhad. This time, however, Toph was turned away from her, shielded by a mountain of blankets.

"I know," for the first time ever, Toph did not feel at ease in the captivating darkness of her existence. She couldn't feel the earth beneath her, the beating of her sister's heart, the overall awareness of her surroundings she had come to take such easy advantage of. Through the tremors of stone and earth she had stabilized herself - but now her foundation was gone, and her confidence eroded away.

"It's just... It's like when we were little. We'd want to run away... from Fong, from Acchai, from everything. You used to talk about going to the North Pole. I used to talk about going to the Ruin Mountains. We never could agree on where to go first, though... but I guess you won that."

Katara moved to leave her own bed, and go towards Toph - but as she rustled the sheets to do so, she saw Toph retreat further into her blankets. The blind girl's precise hearing had noticed her movement, and rejected it.

Katara suddenly had a very sour taste in her mouth. She moved back slowly onto her own bed.

"We'll only be here a little while, Toph, while Aang gets trained. It's just a little while..."

Toph did not move, buried deeply in her bed. Blind eyes misty and distant in the dark.

"Yeah... Aang..."

The room fell very silent then, with Katara still sitting up and looking over at her young sister. Perhaps it was the faded lighting in the room, or the way the fire flickered, but Toph seemed very small within her fur-lined sheets. For as long as Katara could remember, as long as they were sisters, Toph had always been the stronger of the two, the most resolute. She did not change like the tides changed. She was steady and stable, and unrelenting.

But now she was small and unsure in the firelight. It made Katara feel cold, in a way that had nothing to do with the frigid air of the north.

She wanted to say, _This wasn't how I wanted it__. I want to go back._

But Toph would have heard her.

Katara was exhausted from battling wind and ice and snow, but when she rolled over to face the fire, she did not slip under the covers. Instead, she gathered up the sheets and clutched them to her chest, to the soft spot on her neck where her mother's pendant would have hung.

She fell asleep staring into the soft flames of the fire, the image of golden eyes in a half-scarred face.


	5. Greeting

Myobu walked calmly beside Zuko as the caravan rumbled forward. The Spirit-Fox was constantly plagued by the smell of mortal around him, of strife and pain and regret, and on the outskirts with the firebender his discomfort was eased. That, and ever since taking a piece of the Emperor away with him, the Fox had taken to limping occasionally from the weighted sin and mortality of Long Feng. It was a spiritual ailment more than physical, as by taking part of Long Feng, Myobu had also lost part of himself - a much graver sacrifice than any mortal man was apt to understand.

Zuko had noticed Myobu's limp, but had not yet risen the courage to ask the Fox about it. At the moment, the heir of Agni was astride a sweeping black stallion that had the vague look of a camel in it's face, and wide, two-toed feet. It was a fire-spirited creature, but it had been subdued its former masters, harsh and unforgiving as the heat of the Desert. It was a true beast of Acchai, a true mount for barbarians, having braved the wars and terrors of the Lords - and beneath Zuko it had eyes that burned for battle, and it often shook its mane impatiently if they walked too long. It's name was Randhir, which meant "steady in battle" - and if Zuko was lucky, he would be.

Zuko's eyes were now half-lidded with daydreams, as the walk was particularly long this day. He was not wearing his panther-skin, though Song had finished it for him; it was far too hot for the thick, black fur, the helm of the panther's skull. How Jeong-Jeong and his soldiers were able to wear their furs nearly all the time would astound Zuko, even as a firebender, who enjoyed the luxury of heat.

_Your mind is far away._

It took Zuko a minute to realize Myobu had spoken to him; he had been sliding Katara's necklace through his fingers distractedly, feeling the cool blue surface of the stone. The Fox actually awoke him from a very pleasant thought about the waterbender.

"There's - there's not much to think about right now," he tried. Myobu turned one cold, disinterested eye upon him.

_There is much for you to think on. Do not begin to hope, because these two men have joined your service. They have had ill-luck with Lords, and are unlearned still. They will be little use against the forces you will soon face._

Sen Su was a little ways behind Zuko, riding a red horse. He had tied the long lengths of his black hair in a pony-tail, but unlike most men of Acchai he was clean-shaven. Zuko himself had forgotten to shave for the past few days, and there was scruff on his chin, growing steadily into a beard not unlike Hakoda's. They had not yet formed any tight bond, the firebender and the brother of Lee; but Sen Su stuck to his convictions, and at every command was willing to obey the heir of Agni. Lee may have had something to do with that, seeing as he regarded Zuko more god than man, having saved him from an undeserved punishment. Pipsqueak, Zuko guessed, did not follow him so much as he followed Sen Su - but that was all well and good, as long as he could keep Sen Su loyal.

"You don't give them enough credit," Zuko defended his soldiers. "Sen Su has a good head on his shoulders - and Pipsqueak... he's strong as a mountain."

_You give them too much credit. Sen Su has a delicate heart. Pipsqueak has a weak mind._

Zuko groaned unpleasantly at the Fox's words. It was one thing that the Spirit-Beast felt it his duty to interfere in Zuko's task; it was another that he would instill doubt just as soon as Zuko was starting to gain hope on the situation.

"You don't instill much confidence, you know," he said a little bitterly. Myobu turned his cold eye away, started to limp a little.

_I would not have you enter Fong's court without knowing the weaknesses of you allies. A troubled friend can defeat you easier than any enemy. _

"It won't matter when I enter Fong's court. I will take him down so quick he won't have room to breathe -"

"We are not going to Al-Abhad."

Jeong-Jeong rode by swiftly on his tiger-stallion, too fast for Zuko to respond.

"What does he mean? I though we went first to overthrow Fong!"

"There's been a change. We're starting with the Lord Jee."

"The Lord Jee -?"

Zuko had to spur Randhir to catch up with Hakoda, who had brushed by the firebender almost as swiftly as Jeong-Jeong. Fury had found its way into Zuko's heart, faster than poison; the Lord Jee owned the smallest, most useless lands in all Acchai, which was the only reason no other Lord deemed him worthy of conquest. The General had been schooling Zukos steadily on the Lords of Acchai over the past two weeks, in between his firebending and endurance training. The Lord Yung, for example, was a vicious earthbender who'd soon as sacrifice his own men before letting go of his seat of power; the Lord Mongke, a firebending weapon's specialist, would torture rebels before crowds like it was his birthday; and the Lord Bonai, a drunkard, who was not so much to be feared as his ruthless first wife, Lady Kwan. They all had savage reputations, though none quite compared to the colorful descriptions of Lord Fong. The Lord Jee, however, was a joke, and even Zuko knew enough to know that.

"Jeong-Jeong has told me of Lord Jee, Chief!" Zuko barely caught up to Hakoda. "He is a pest; he hardly has a coin to his name - !"

"And Fong possesses the strongest Lordship in all of Acchai. Do you really want to start there?" Zuko was suddenly glaring straight into the firebender's eyes, with such ferocity that Zuko's protests were instantly lost. Hakoda kept his eyes trained on the heir of Agni for another crucial moment, before slowing his horse to get side-by-side to him.

"Gather your temper, and your men, and meet us at the head of the caravan," he whispered sideways at the firebender, and a rush of insult went through Zuko. He had half a mind to gallop angrily after the Chief, but even as he went to spur his horse, he thought better than that. He remembered his appearance now meant something to the soldiers around him, and for all purposes he had to appear collected and confident - especially before Sen Su and Pipsqueak.

Lee wanted to come along with his brother, when Zuko rallied him and Pipsqueak (who had to ride a rhino, he was so big), but naturally it was not allowed. He stayed behind with Song as a the three men galloped the way Hakoda was gone. The caravan was grinding its slow way up a flat ridge of rocks, that stood an obstacle before passing into the main realms of Acchai. It was dry and windswept, and all that grew on the red stone was coarse bush and cacti; they were close to the Desert here, and scorpions and camel-spiders still roamed among the rocks. Hakoda and Jeong-Jeong were waiting at the sunlit peak, but none of Jeong-Jeong's men were there. This was a closed discussion between the three men, and none of Jeong-Jeong's soldiers seemed of high enough rank to gain access. The fact that Sen Su and Pipsqueak were given an invitation was something they did not overlook, nor take advantage of.

"Do you see the towers on the ridge?" Hakoda gestured to a barely visible row of towers against the horizon. Zuko nodded vaguely in the direction Hakoda pointed as the caravan rumbled by behind them, slow goings on the ridge. Moybu sat down beside Randhir, raised his leg, and scratched lazily on one side of his head.

"We can reach the Lord Jee's by tomorrow. Then we can cut a path through the Bloodvale, and take on the Lord at Al-Unagi. If we conquer them both, we may have enough men to strike a more powerful estate."

"So how does this work?" Zuko leaned forward on the saddle, looking out at the far, distant pillars of the Lord Jee's estate. They were tiny and unimposing on the horizon, nothing at all like the great towers of Al-Abhad. "I mean, are the General and I going to rush in, fists blazing, and all that?"

"No. The General does nothing. Nor do I," the Chief said flatly, and Zuko looked at him like he'd gone insane.

"What do you mean? You want me to do it alone?"

"You are the one destined to unite Acchai. The General and I will follow you, but you are the one who must demand the Lord's allegiance - that, or take his life. These are the only two ways to conquest in Acchai."

A very cold feeling crept up Zuko's spine. He was lucky that only Hakoda was looking at him in that moment; the dread on his face would have made Jeong-Jeong scowl, and placed doubt in the hearts of Sen Su and Pipsqueak. Luckily he corrected himself before anyone (besides Hakoda, who was the only one capable of understanding the firebender's fear) noticed his fallen face, and he straightened up immediately, if a little unsurely, on his saddle.

"Pipsqueak, announce our change in direction to the caravan. Tomorrow we reach Al-Omid."

Pipsqueak nodded obediently, and turned his rhino around with one swift, powerful motion, taking off up the ridge. The General took his leave after that, and with him the Chief and Myobu; Jeong-Jeong paused only to remind Zuko of his training that night. It would be an unusually rigorous training session, in case Lord Jee had something up his sleep they were not aware of. In the blinding sunlight, then, only Zuko and Sen Su remained on the cliff-ledge. The two men, still awkward around one another, seemed to sit in uncomfortable silence for a minute, before Zuko found something to say.

"What do you know about the Lord Jee, Sen Su?"

"Not much," Sen Su leaned forward on the saddle just as Zuko had done, a moment before with Hakoda. "He's supposed to be nothing, really. They say he was a strong warrior in his younger years, but he inherited poor land from his father. He's older now - he won't be difficult to take down."

"Would you think me weak, if I told you I wasn't excited about the possibility of killing him?"

Zuko had said it on a whim, perhaps some internal wish to be unlike the callous Jeong-Jeong, unlike the iron Chief. As he spoke, he turned to look Sen Su in the eye, and was surprised to find a glimmer of a smile on the man's face. In respect Sen Su lowered his gaze a little from Zuko's glance, but the smile stayed on his lips - a proud, hopeful sort of expression.

"You've changed my mind about the Lords of Acchai," admitted the blacksmith's son. "You showed mercy on my brother, when any other would have hacked off his arm. And you place high value on a man's life. But my father taught me that a man must not be afraid to kill - and for all your traits, I know you aren't."

--

"...I'd a have her fuckin' head by now, and you know it..." Smellerbee as rambling a little again, which sometimes happened right after Ty Lee numbed her with a few quick jabs around her hip. It was to keep the still lingering pain in her leg at bay - the Rebels had their share of healing waterbenders, but most of them had abandoned the Fighters home base to join in Azula's Civil War. Her call had been loud and forceful, and an answered prayer to many underground rebels of the Union, itching for a fight. Their eagerness to join the daughter of Ozai would be their downfall, as it overstepped their better judgment.

"Is she always like this?" Haru asked Longshot with a raised eyebrow, as Smellerbee continued to mutter about the thousand ways to kill Azula. Longshot grinned at the earthbender before taking his place beside the warrior woman, her small frame lit eerily by candlelight.

The fortress of the Rebels, and of those who called themselves the Freedom Fighters, was founded on the ruined, abandoned shell of iron once known as the Boiling Rock. The people there knew only of its original name because of the half blotted-out, imprinted characters on the metal above the main gate. It had been the strongest prison in the world, at one time or another, surrounded by the ever-churning, sulphurous waters - but years and wars had ceased use of it, and it had been left to cook in the midst of it's boiling lake. It was an eerie, haunting place, with fingernail marks and blood splatter still staining some of the walls, reminiscent of prison riots, slain guards. Four floors of empty prisoner cells, and the quite animosity of the watch-towers, was enough to keep many at bay, simply on superstitious fears. The rumor of the rebel base being upon this island was not unknown - but for many years no visible path had ever been discovered to the prison. The gondola had fallen apart countless years ago; the only way the rebels made their own way in or out, was by a long, dark tunnel bent down straight through the island and underneath the lake, coming up on the far side of the island. Haru had made this tunnel, and sealed it's entrance, so no one had yet discovered it location.

Ty Lee was a circus-acrobat who, upon meeting the delightfully rugged earthbender during one of her shows, had chosen to pursue a life of criminality. Her skills in kyusho-jitsu made her a crucial ally and a formidable opponent, and a pink aura to balance Haru's uncertainly dark green one. The earthbender had lost his father to the Union not many years ago, imprisoned for being part of the Rebellion. Ty Lee had left her family at age 13, and never once looked back. There was a rumor that something had gone wrong in her household, and she avoided the subject of her parents rather briskly - but her all her traits she was positive and glowing, and dazzling to Haru.

"I think they're _adorable,_" she claimed delightfully, sitting on the ledge behind him so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders. Haru sent her a fleeting, amused grin.

"You think everything's adorable," he reminded her, and she smiled a wide, superstar smile for him, before planting a kiss on is cheek.

"Which includes you, of course. Do you have any news from the others?"

The smile faded from Haru's face as he looked at the desk across the room, covered with half-open letters and maps and damaged communications. The Union was tightening its grip on mail, as was Azula; it was hard for anything to get by nowadays unless it was thickly coded, and you never knew it it was tampered with.

"Yes, but none of it's good. She'll make it all the way to the sea by the end of the month, at her rate," Haru walked over to the desk, leaving Longshot and Smellerbee alone for a few moments. Ty Lee followed him, arm linked around his.

"Do you think they've told her about the Boiling Rock?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. But we'll find out when she gets to the Crescent Isles."

"... You mean, if, don't you?" Ty Lee tried to correct him. Haru's startling green eyes were hard as iron. "_If_ she gets as far as the Crescent Isles."

"No, Ty Lee. I don't," he looked at her sadly, resolutely.

Longshot was fluffing Smellerbee's pillow, as ridiculous as it seemed to Smellerbee, who never would have allowed anyone to do such a thing previously. Longshot had also been her guide as she tried to begin walking on her still-broken leg - but her healing was far from complete, and at most she could only go several dodgy steps a day.

"It's so dark in here," Smellerbee noted, as their room in the Boiling Rock was lit only by candelight. It was also nighttime outside, but she overlooked this, even though there were windows off to the right showing them a view of the stars.

"I'll start a fire, if you want," Longshot suggested. Usually she could read him, and he hardly needed to speak a word; but she was so far gone and numb and wounded that he had to adjust this strategy. Ty Lee had sent a subtle jab to her neck earlier, to help her relax and drift her off to sleep. The effect was taking now, and she gazed up with half-lidded eyes at her love, Longshot looming over her desperately, protectively.

"No. Let's...make love," she said dreamily, putting a hand on Longshot's cheek. Longshot turned his head so he could kiss the inside of her palm, letting her fingers slide up and rummage through his growing hair.

"...I don't think that's the best idea, right now," he sad softly, regretfully. She groaned and wriggled a little, but her broken leg was in a tight splint, and it severely impaired her movement.

"Damn... bum leg... I hope you put an arrow in Jet's... ass..."

She grinned to herself, and Longshot stifled a smile as her eyes closed, gently, dark lashes above her red war-paint. He laid her hand on the bedside as she drifted off, his dark gaze distant but angry. Then with one smooth motion he leaned over her, placing a tender kiss on her sweet mouth.

"I'll put an arrow in his throat for you."

He whispered it again her crimson lips, but she was already asleep.

--

The house of Lord Jee, named Al-Omid by its founder countless years ago, was in a decrepit state. Of the same style of Al-Abhad, the house was hardly a tenth its size, barely enough room for the Lord's family themselves - and there seemed no immediate hope of expanding. The foundations were crumbling into ruin; one tower was already half-collapsed from neglect, the windows were dark, and the road was washed away. Paint peeled from the walls, and went untended; iron rusted, wood swelled and shrank, windows were broken and boarded over. An entire section of the roof at the back end of the house ad collapsed inwards, leaving a massive pile of debris to consume three rooms. It was in such poor condition it was a wonder anyone could manage living there at all, much less the hundred or so living beneath Lord Jee. Its gates were guarded solely by wind and dust and the bleached, white ribcages of dead camels and goat-mules. There were no archers on the ramparts, and no soldiers to greet them; the banner of Lord Jee was faded and torn.

The walk to the front gate, however, was what threatened to break Zuko's heart.

The surrounding lands of Al-Abhad had been plush orchards and fields, green land in a sea of Acchai'd bleak landscape. But here everything was brown and withered, dry as the Desert; rice fields had failed, and they stretched like brown scars on the earth, symbols of the Jee's poverty. The servants and peasants beneath the Lord, it seemed, had succumbed to growing even baser crops in an attempt to survive - potato and wild onion fields, still not even half the size for a working estate, scattered the surrounding lands of Al-Omid. There were no fruit trees, and no river flowed by through the property to signal any prosperity, as it had near Al-Abhad.

Peasants worked tirelessly in these dead fields as Zuko's caravan passed by. Their efforts, even Zuko knew, were nearly futile. The ground was hard as stone, cracked and dry and lifeless, suffocated by a lack of river and rain. The peasants themselves were dirty, unkempt people, and thinner than any beggar. Women with arms like sticks worked alongside their sick husbands, trying to till the rock-hard ground to make the brown potato stalks grow. Their children (and there were very many) helped if they were old enough, skin tanned dark by countless hours in the sun. The youngest simply clung to their mothers knees, sickly thin aside from their round, protruding bellies. With all of the men, Zuko could see their ribcages, clearly defined beneath thin coverings of skin, shoulder blades popping from their backs, heads seemingly oddly large on their bodies.

It chilled Zuko to the bone. They were starving, feeling the slow decay until death finally overcame them, in a year when even their most meager crops would not grow. He understood now why no Lord had ever attempt to conquer this estate; to even walk amongst its people, one felt the sting of despair and desperation, and it repelled them. Many of the peasants looked more like walking corpses than men, and even as they neared the gate, Zuko was horrified to see a body lying in the street beside them; a man with white hair and sun-bleached skin, and buzzards picking at his disemboweled innards.

The gate was swinging open, half off it's hinges. Myobu remained outside, to keep their exit from being blocked, in case things went very ill. Zuko managed to cast one glance at the General before they entered, but Jeong-Jeong's expression was stone. It was times like these, Zuko learned to hate the iron will of the General.

The soldiers remained outside as Zuko entered the courtyard with the Chief, the General, and Sen Su. The assembly awaiting them was pitiful, when Zuko remembered the grand (if rather unhappy) welcome of the Lord Fong: the assumed Lord Jee - an equally small, malnourished man with wild grey hair and a long, drawn sort of face - was backed by only ten or so soldiers, all of them looking unfit for battle. The robe Lord Jee wore, even Zuko noticed, was dull and out of fashion. It would have broken his heart to know that this was the Lord Jee's most fashionable robe, and he'd worn it as soon as news had reached him of the party's arrival.

Zuko himself had no true armor yet, as Gow had not finished it. Instead, he had borrowed a suit of Acchain armor, and with the vicious scar and the ruthless General at his side, was looking all the more the part of a Mongol ruler. Yet in his golden eyes there was hesitation, and conflict, and the persistent sight of starving innocents in the fields.

"Are you the Lord Jee?" Zuko was almost afraid to ask. The grey-headed man bowed stiffly, fearfully before him.

"I am."

The man's hands, Zuko noticed, shook a little, as though he had some neural defect. The three or four men behind him looked hardly younger than he, with beards as grey as their Lord's, their grips weak on their spears. Against the regiment of Jeong-Jeong's men, the soldiers of Al-Omid looked like a jokel; none of them were properly armored - in fact, none of them had any metal plates, and their leather armor was worn with age and use, in total disrepair as the rest of Al-Omid.

Zuko knew what his next move was supposed to be - to demand the Lord's estate, and all his wealth and holdings and loyalty. But the words could not get past his lips.

He thought of Jet, suddenly, born a miller of Hu Shin. Remembered how often they talked about the starving peasant man, the callous lords of the estates. How little those rich, well-fed nobles knew of suffering, of strife, of starvation - how Azula had incited them to anger, to rebellion, because of the neglect of their masters. How strong the working man was, when compared to the delicacy of the nobles.

"How long has your estate been in this disrepair, Lord?" he asked, abruptly - and for all the world, Zuko truly wanted to know.

But the Lord Jee seemed to double-take at Zuko's words. Suspicion entered his eyes like a shadow, but it was quickly replaced with a much more honest form of confusion.

"I... as long as I have been Lord, sir," he replied. Randhir tossed his mane, shifted its weight beneath the heir of Agni.

"Why haven't you made any repairs? Why are servants and soldiers so ill-looking?"

"The - the land around my estate is not good land, my Lord," the Lord Jee looked more confused each moment. "We have no good source for water. We are... just lucky to have enough to survive."

"And do you still eat well, Lord?" Zuko's eyes were intense. Remembering the dead man in the road. The starving children with round, bloated bellies.

"No, my Lord," and there was an honesty about it in his eyes, in the thin workings of his frame.

"Don't you have private stores?"

Sen Su had finally turned to look at Zuko in this moment, bewildered by his Lord's questioning. While still in awe of Zuko's seeming contradictory convictions, he was nonetheless beginning to doubt where this line of reasoning was going.

"... Communal use, Lord," Jee finally replied, and there was shame in his face.

Hakoda let out a noise that sounded like a mix between disbelief and admiration. Zuko studied the failing Lord, noting Hakoda's reaction; for if indeed this man so sacrificed his own stores to help feed the peasants responsible for growing it, he was a noble man indeed. For a long while silence reigned in the courtyard, as the Lord Jee awaited the next question from Zuko, eyes full of doubt and fear and pain. Zuko saw it like remembering a bad dream - and then Uncle was before him, inside him, speaking through him -

"General? Bring me a map."

Jeong-Jeong stiffened instinctively, eyes fixed on Zuko. There was the rumor of a threat in the General's iron gaze, inquiring to the firebender's game. Zuko did not give him the pleasure of looking him in the eye, though, and so the General had to content himself with bringing the firebender what he wished.

With a swift motion, Jeong-Jeong acquired a map from his saddle-bag and handed it to Zuko. Without hesitation or offence, Zuko inclined his head to Jee before slipping down from the saddle. A low table as standing over to the right of the courtyard; Zuko made for it, gesturing for the Lord Jee to follow him. The tension in Al-Omid, at the coming of the new Lord, was beginning to ebb away, at least in Jee's heart. Intrigued, he followed Zuko to the table, as did Sen Su, equally perplexed and interested. Jeong-Jeong would have followed too, but Hakoda persuaded him otherwise with a single look. The General settled uncomfortably into his saddle as Zuko spread the map on the table, the Lord Jee at his left hand, Se Su at his right.

"Your lands are here, Lord Jee?" Zuko pointed to a very small part on the map of Acchai, and Jee nodded. The firebender took a moment, then, to study the surrounding land; then he took Jee by the shoulder (an absurdly friendly gesture, which made Jeong-Jeong even more uncomfortable, and caused a smile to drift across Hakoda's lips) and pointed to a nearby portion of the map.

"I can re-route this river for you," he claimed, pointing to a blue lined labeled _Sulak_. "There are earthbenders and waterbenders beneath my General. I can have it flow right past your gates - in a few months, yours lands will all be green."

Lord Jee looked at Zuko like he was both stark-raving mad, and an angel sent down from heaven.

"With all due respect, I have already tried that route, my Lord. It cannot be done."

"Why not?" there was veiled anger in Zuko's voice at this defiance.

"It is just - there is another Lord in this territory -" said Jee swiftly, to avoid his wrath. "- and he will not allow us to use it."

"Does he own the land on the river?"

"No. But he is far stronger than I. His name is Qin, and he has... seven Generals beneath him."

The desk rustled suddenly as Sen Su stepped back. Zuko turned to see why he retreated, and saw only madness in the man's eyes. Something in Jee's words had sparked a memory, and a hatred, in Sen Su's being; his hands shook at his sides, and he stared at the map a though any moment he might draw his sword and shred it apart.

Zuko stood slowly and walked over to where Sen Su stood, seething. Jee looked uncertainly between the two men, the dark-haired warrior shuddering with restrained fury, and the calm, but dangerous aura of the firebender. Jeong-Jeong's eyes narrowed on the young soldier in a disapproving way, but Hakoda's eyes were unreadable.

"Do you know the Lord Qin, Sen Su?" Zuko asked quietly, so that not even the Lord Jee could hear. Sen Su hesitated, chanced to look Zuko in the eye.

"Yes," his words were dripping with fury, with vengeance. "He is... the Lord who killed my mother."

A rush of displeasure went through Zuko. However much he had hated the stingy Lord before, now it was doubled tenfold - but Zuko was also learning the value of fury here in Acchai, and Sen Su's face was riddled with it.

"You know his Generals?"

Sen Su nodded mutely, still staring at the map. The distant call of a buzzard, like the ringing bells of destiny.

"If you arrived with me Sen Su, and supported me, would any of the Generals come to our side?" Zuko asked. Sen Su took a moment to collect his thoughts, to try and grasp what the Lord was asking him.

"I know of... three, who will without fail. Another two I am not sure... but two are dead loyal."

"Can you recognize those two on sight?"

"Of course," Sen Su's words were more confident now.

"Good. When we enter Qin's court, I want you to kill them immediately."

Zuko nodded encouragingly to an astounded Sen Su, and then turned back to face the Lord Jee, waiting apprehensively. Without the black panther cloak around his shoulders, Zuko himself seemed less imposing than the blood-god that was Jeong-Jeong, or the legend that was Hakoda - but there was purpose and spark of destiny within him that merited attention and admiration, and even the sickly Jee knew to respect him.

"I will swear this to you now, Jee. If you pledge your allegiance to me - Lord Zuko, of Agni - and obey my authority, I will not only move this river for you - but I will give you all the lands and property of this offending Lord. Do you understand?"

At his words, a mutual whisper of surprise went through the courtyard. Jee, a bit taller than Zuko despite his malnourishment and age, stared at the Lord incredulously.

"You... will kill Qin?"

"He has wronged you and he will be punished," the resolve in Zuko's eyes was terrifying.

The Lord Jee stared hopefully at Zuko, then doubtfully, then a combination of the two; but in the end, there was no denying the conviction in the firebender's gaze. In a hesitant, but all too willing fashion, Jee looked back cautiously at his soldiers, who were staring at Zuko with high regard. Jee's doubts slipped away like water, and he turned back to the firebender.

"If you can do this, My Lord, then - then my allegiance be pledged!"

Zuko did not wait for the Lord to fall to his knees and bow, as was custom, as was tradition; he bowed graciously to the Lord before he could debase himself, and this sent another wave of whispers rippling through soldier and starving man.

"You are now Lieutenant Jee, a step below my own General Jeong-Jeong," Zuko held out his hand and clasped Jee's, who was still staring in wonder and elation. When Zuko unclasped their hands, however, he turned swiftly from the new Lieutenant to return to his steed. "You must send your own Generals to spread word of me -"

"I - I have no Generals, my Lord," Jee rushed after Zuko as he returned to Randhir, awaiting him impatiently.

"Who are your highest ranking officers?" Zuko said it as he lifted himself into the saddle. Sen Su did the same beside him, beaming with the glorious idea of revenge.

"I have a few Captains..." Jee stuttered.

"Send them, with two soldiers each. Have them ride all over the land, to ever Lord's house, bearing a banner of flame. They will bring news of what has happened here, and the truth that the Avatar has returned. Then they will give my greeting to every corner of Acchai."

Zuko and Sen Su turned back towards the gate, and with him Hakoda (grinning visibly now) and Jeong-Jeong (looking in the midst of a fury). As they spurred their horses into a canter, Jee stumbled awkwardly, after them, still hardly able to believe his ears.

"The... the Avatar...? Wait! What is your greeting, my Lord?"

Zuko turned and stopped in the gate, Randhir letting out a desperate neigh and throwing its head gracefully. The golden glow in the firebender's eyes was all-consuming, unquenchable. He looked down, and smiled at the blue necklace at his wrist, before answering the Lieutenant.

"That the Lord Zuko of Agni is here. And he has come to unite the war-lands."


	6. Miserable Old Man

Two days after arriving at the Aurora Tribe, the group was rested enough to venture back out into the crowded city. Their reception was as jovial and enthusiastic as it had been when they stepped off the boat; aged women ran up to Toph and Katara and Suki, taking their hands in theirs, pressing their foreheads gratefully to the backs of their palms. Some of them babbled on in the language of the North, but after a few minutes realized their visitors could not understand them, and switched into a more common tongue. Their questions and praise was all mostly directed at Katara, who - now dressed in native Water Tribe apparel (apart from her still existent niqab) looked more an Aurora Princess than anyone could have imagined. They asked her about things Katara found embarrassing and unexpected - inquiries about her mother, the whereabouts of her father, her plans in leading the Aurora Tribe - and her not-so-personal favorite, if she was to marry soon.

Suki was beset by similar questions, most of them regarding her relationship to the Prince Sokka, and what her barbaric life as a Kyoshi-Shaman must be like. Toph clung blindly and bitterly to her sisters arm, responding to compliments and questions with silence and a cold shoulder.

Kimba found them, somehow, through the thick of the crowd; she yelled several things out to their now nearly frantic audience, who responded with wails of disapproval and resentment. Kimba, however, stood her ground, speaking on in the Aurora tongue until the people began to disperse somewhat. When enough people had disappeared into the maze-like city, she encouraged them to put up their hoods so that they wouldn't be recognized so easily, even though it was fairly clear weather. Then she took Katara by the arm in an effort to lead her near where her brother and the Avatar were staying, but the ice-coated building the two men shared was so thickly surrounded by admirers they could not dare to be seen.

"This is not good," Kimba held them all back from the crowd before the were noticed by the masses. "We'll be blocked in no matter where -"

"Kimba!"

The voice that rang out was withered with age, but strong in conviction. It drew Kimba's head around immediately, and Katara was relieved to see a smile spread across her face. The woman who pushed her way through the crowds had deep lines upon her face, but she was elegant in her age, light gray hair pulled back from her face to reveal two lovely, blue-gray eyes not misted with age. There was a gracious, gentle, confident way in which she carried herself, and from the moment Katara saw her she knew she could trust her with her life.

"Yugoda!" Kimba embraced the old woman dearly as soon as she muscled her way through the crowd. Yugoda smiled and hugged her back dearly, if briefly, for their situation was a little cramped.

"Looking for this one?" Yugoda grinned, and Aang appeared suddenly at her hip, looking awkwardly young and small in his gigantic fur cloak, hood drawn up over his bald, tattooed head. He grinned at Katara and Toph

"This is Yugoda," Kimba introduced the smiling woman happily. Aang, who had already met the woman, stood back while the short greetings were exchanged.

"Katara, Toph, Suki," she grabbed all of their hands warmly, but let go almost immediately. "I'm afraid introductions will have to come later - you and the Avatar are already running late for your first day of training."

She went to lead them away (again, suddenly, lest they disturb the masses). Katara was the first one to stop in remembrance of her brother, who had not arrived with Aang (this irritated Toph a little, who was still clinging sourly to her arm).

"Wait, what about...?"

"The Prince has already left with Arnook. They have much to talk about, I'd think," Yugoda said comfortingly, before taking her hand and leading the way through the ice-coated streets. Aang found a spot beside her, still shielded overly-so by his massive fur cloak.

"S'not wha' I much expect'd, y'know," Aang said nervously as they ducked the crowds behind Kimba and Yugoda, who led them down a very unused side-street where only beggars lined the edges. Katara's heart sank when she saw them, but she tried to assure herself that all cities had beggars - not matter how prosperous a place it seemed.

"They'll calm down after a few days," Kimba assured him from ahead. "They're just excited - and who can blame them? You're arrival has brought us all new hope."

That left Aang with a sour, uneasy feeling in his stomach, and he grimaced as he walked.

--

--

Arnook had come for Sokka almost as soon as he was out of bed. The tired Prince had dragged his feet behind the Chief of the Bear Clan, thinking mostly of Suki and his absent father, and lured by the promise of breakfast. Arnook chatted to him in a friendly manner as they walked, as though trying to distract him from the rumbling of his stomach and the stares of all the people as they passed.

Sokka was finding it increasingly unnerving how the people of the Aurora Tribe regarded him. He assumed the reputation of his father had proceeded him, and being Hakoda's son he was seen as an equally benevolent hero - only Sokka had never been in a position to lead, always following the rugged General or his cruel, adoptive father, Fong. He had commanded respect from the other soldiers, and had been Jeong-Jeong's right hand man many a time in Acchai, but even then this was due mostly to his parentage, not his own achievement. It made Sokka feel like a cheater amongst conquerors, unworthy to stand beside them.

Despite his own doubts, women squeeled when he walked by, detained only by stern looks from Arnook; men bowed their heads obediently, as though he had already taken his father's place as Head Chief. In relief, Arnook led him inside a vast ice-building, carven with many likenesses of the Moon Spirit, similar to the one carved upon the ceiling of the Main Hall. That thought led Sokka abruptly, hungrily to Suki, who had shown such fear in the presence of her mural. It still haunted him, the terrified look in her eyes as she stared up at Yue, as though he was seeing a real ghost instead of a painting.

They found their way into a private study of Arnook's, where a breakfast was already set up for them, fresh and steaming. Unfamiliar food glared at Sokka; fried north fish and raw fish, mole-bear steak and seaweed roles, prickly sea-fruits, smoked seal jerky and seaweed-powdered noodles. In no way were these food of Acchai, or of any other nation for that matter - but Sokka took to them like a starved man to a banquet, which endlessly amused Arnook (Hakoda had been just the same way at Sokka's age). Hardly even allowing enough time for Arnook to sit down, Sokka had already downed three seaweed rolls before he realized he despised their taste, and took a hesitant sip from his glass, full of a syrupy-looking drink. He was surprised to find the dark liquid tasted uncharacteristically light; Arnook smiled to himself when he saw the Prince's reaction, lifting a fork-full of fried fish to his own lips.

"What is this? It tastes almost like water," Sokka asked, quizzically.

"It is a seaweed wine. It's traditional, and is very mild - I myself could go for something stronger. Do you mind?" Arnook said it with one knowing eye on Sokka, who - like many men of Acchai - possessed a look that merited a harder drink. Sokka nodded gratefully as the Chief beckoned for some sake, imported from the East, and a rare delicacy to the Acchain man. As soon as the alcohol was on the table, Sokka downed a glass, before returning ravenously to his breakfast. Arnook waited a few moments, picking disinterestedly at his own food while Sokka scarfed down enough meat to feed a family of five.

"How is it?" he asked, finally, as Sokka grew near to finishing the entire mole-bear steak set before him.

Sokka's mouth was so full his face looked like it had turned into puffer-bird cheeks. He opened his mouth to respond, thought better before he spat food all over the Chief, and closed it again, giving a very brief but enthusiastic thumbs-up. Arnook grinned, having not eaten very much himself, fork sticking idly at his fish and steamed seaweed roll.

"Nothing like Acchain food though, eh?"

"Nothing at all," Sokka had to agree after swallowing, and a smile spread across Arnook's face. "Acchai hardly has any fish... "

"I hear the curry's good, especially in the south," Arnook seemed to speak Sokka's language, fluent in the tongues of food. The Prince even stopped eating as the conversation opened up, though he still routinely piled food into his mouth at every break.

"Yeah. Spicier the better, how's I see it. Not fireflake hot though, that's suicide..."

"I went there once, with Hakoda. We had a... a kind of curry bread. Do you know...?"

"Kare-pan. The fat bread, yeah."

"The what?" Arnook thought he had misheard, and Sokka laughed because he hadn't.

"Call it fat bread, 'cause the fat women make it. It's a compliment, actually. In Acchai, we know who the good cooking women are, even before we've tasted the food. They're the big ones, you know. Out there, a man's more on to getting himself a nice, fat wife before a pretty-eyed stick."

Even the very well-poised Arnook had to laugh at this, which in turn made Sokka laugh - for until this point the Prince had not realized anything particularly funny about life in Acchai, and it was unusually refreshing. Even with his father's neglect hanging over his head, and the impact of this new culture in the Aurora Tribe, he found comedy. It was infinitely entertaining, actually, to think about the last time he'd ate and drunk so easily in Acchai - especially the one and only time he had witnessed Jeong-Jeong getting smashed, and the General had swiftly taken it upon himself to throw his own mole-bear cloak over his head and roar like a mad lion. He had then proceeded to chase one of the new soldiers around the campsite with a branding iron and pass out drunk beside a goat-mule, which started and kicked and bolted away.

"They have sake in Acchai?" as Arnook downed his own glass and Sokka grinned between bites.

"Yeah, but its not as good as this. If you really want a kick, you should try the rye brandy the soldiers get. Real man's drink..."

"Maybe one day we'll drink it together, then," Arnook smiled as Sokka looked up at him quizzically, mouth full of noodles and fish. "Regrettably, however... I'm afraid we have more to to talk about than curry and brandy."

"Well..." a fleeting, sheepish look passed across the Prince's face "Heh, pity then."

"Yes," Arnook smiled, before Sokka could make himself look like a fool anymore than he already was. A shameful look crossed the Chief's face, and he placed his arms solemnly in his lap. "I'm shamed to say I need your help. Well... the Aurora Tribe needs your help. We are a failing nation, Sokka -"

"What are you talking about? The people here must be better fed than half the land of Acchai!" and Sokka was proving it with the number of pickled crab-cakes he was shoving down his throat. Arnook smiled sadly at Sokka's blind enthusiasm, kindly ignoring the fact the Prince had just interrupted him.

"We have enough food, that is true," he agreed unwillingly, before taking another swift drink from his sake. "But there is more to living than food. Ever since the Union went to War... we've been deteriorating."

Sokka stopped shoveling food in his mouth long enough to focus, somewhat, on what Arnook was saying. His head was still kind of full of fat women coking curry bread, and he had to train his attention on the Chief

"...What do you mean?" he asked, a little bit hesitantly.

"We used to trade with a few posts in the Union and the Empire. It kept our economy alive, kept our culture flowing. We sent out sealskin, pelts, gem-coral, even fresh water for some desperate cities... but over the last twenty years the Empire has stopped trading with us. We managed to make more posts in the Union, but it was nowhere near what it once was. And now, with the Civil War rising... the Union has cut off trade as well. The Chosen King, it seemed, believes it would be best to stop foreign contact until internal affairs are settled."

"...So what does that mean for you?" Sokka was almost afraid to ask. He had dealt with small trade struggles back in Al-Abhad - but they were probably nowhere near as classy as the policies of the Aurora Tribe. More often than not, Lords would take what they needed before negotiating trade routes, but Fong had still done his share in his time, and Sokka had a vague idea of how they worked.

"It means that in a few years the Aurora Tribe will be a deteriorated city. We have survived on the wood and oil sent by the Union, as well as various odd supplies - clay, leather, iron and other metals for some of our defenses. Ice does not hold up well against flaming catapults, you see. Wood, however, was our main import. Without it we have no way to cook food, to light homes - to keep ourselves warm at night."

"What did you trade them? For the wood?"

"The same as we did for the Empire - furs, sealskin, gems, water. But it seems the Union has little need of those things in times of war."

Arnook took another drink of sake, looking very tired and anxious suddenly in the dim light.

"Does my father know of this?" Sokka asked, but at the word 'father' his voice shook considerably. He had still not come to regard Hakoda very fondly, despite what encouraging words he may have spoken.

"He does. It was him, in fact, who told me you were regarded as quite a genius amongst your own people," Arnook's grin returned swiftly, assuringly. "I was hoping, perhaps, with your father's same mind, you might be able to create a solution in his absence."

Sokka had never felt the weight of the world crash down quite so heavily on his shoulders than it did at that moment. Combined with the conflicted feelings of his father speaking so highly of him, and the crushing unfairness of having the future of entire civilization placed suddenly on his shoulders - it was enough to make him feel sick, and he stopped chewing his food as though it had suddenly turned to ash in his mouth. He thought of the masses of people in the streets who had come to greet them with such gusto, and for no wonder - they believed Sokka, Prince Sokka, could save them from this future depression, of an entire nation freezing to death. This Acchain man, born of an Aurora Tribe woman, staring at Arnook and into this doom, a naive and unwilling savior. At least Zuko had been given a forewarning.

"I... I don't know -" Sokka stuttered, put his fork down. Arnook raised his hand consolingly, as though to assure him.

"Of course I'll give you time to think about it. And don't feel pressured," Arnook nodded encouragingly to the Prince, before resuming eating his own food. "I just want to stop this problem before it begins."

Sokka's appetite was gone. He had the same feeling in his stomach as Aang had, not minutes before.

--

--

"Katara, Aang - this is Master Pakku."

Katara looked at the man before her with obvious disbelief. His expression was even more resentful and unpleasant than it had been on the ice two days ago.

"_You_?" Katara uttered it in blind shock, as Pakku raised an eyebrow.

"My name is Pakku. I believe you only pronounced the last syllable," the man said stiffly. Yugoda made a noise not unlike a disapproving snort, but Pakku seemed not to notice. "And in case you were not aware, we have all been waiting on you."

"We're sorry, Master, the crowds were -"

"I don't want you're excuses! Line up - Avatar, in the front," Pakku gestured blatantly to Aang, and then turned his back to the new pupils. Yugoda huffed at the Master's back, before taking both Suki and Toph by their hands, as it was a waterbending session and they were not such.

"Come along now, both of you - I'll take you to where your magnificent bison is..."

Toph did not want to leave her sister, visibly distressed by the separation, but there was nothing the waterbender could do. Suki tried to talk reassuringly to the blind earthbender, but Toph still knew Suki only very superficially, and their parallel personalities were almost in danger of rubbing each other the wrong way. Yugoda would probably be able to mediate between them, but Toph was very protective of her brother and already had a rather cold disposition towards the Kyoshi-Shaman.

The class was already assembled in rows of five, most of them boys, on the icy training platform overlooking one of the denser districts of the city. It was slick and hard to walk on, which may have been part of the point; but Katara, who had lived her whole life on rugged sand, needed to hang onto Kimba's arms as she walked to her spot. The two girls stood side-by-side as the training began, Pakku roaring out instructions like he was god speaking to mere mortals.

"Spread your feet! _Relax _your bodies! How can you let the chi flow if you are rigid as boards? Katara, Kimba! Lower your shoulders! You are not hunchbacked, are you?"

"God, I think I might _kill_ him..." Katara muttered, and Kimba responded in amusement:

"Ignore him. That's what I do. He thinks the male students are all better than us anyway, the ass."

From then on Katara glued herself to Kimba's hip, as Pakku began his waterbending exercises. They began with fairly simple stretching and breathing movements, to get the flow of their chi moving well; Katara had done this sort of thing since she was small, and the gestures came to her easily. Her grace and mastery of the movement, however, went mostly unnoticed by Pakku, who was more concerned with correcting Aang's every little mistake. Perhaps it was because he was the Avatar, but Master Pakku seemed to be particularly strict with Aang, even moreso than his other students - which was saying something. The sun rose steadily as they practiced - it was not a basics class, but it was fairly low-level, and most of the there students were even younger than Aang, staring at the Avatar like a spirit descended amongst them. At about noontime he began to teach them a complicated exercise pattern that involved weaving separate streams of water up and down and around each other, always focusing on not letting them touch - and getting severely reprimanded at every mistake.

The movements came easily to Katara, and as time wore on her thoughts began to stray. She wondered, achingly, where Zuko was at the moment - if he was still alive, even. The thought of the firebender uniting Acchai was not impossible to the waterbender, but she knew the ultimate dangers of the barbarian lands, and there was fear in her heart for Zuko. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him, safe beside the General, but that thought brought her no comfort - for how safe was the General? Yet her father was there to protect him, and that eased her worry a bit. The air was cold, despite her layers of furs, and she felt her mind stray further, past the terror of the Emperor's Palace and the confusion of Aang's destruction and then...

Then there was only warmth, fleeting warmth, in the memory of the docks, in the way his lips caressed her, strong and gentle...

The complicated patterns of hovering water-streaks before her became messed a little, overlapped on each other. Pakku noticed it instantly, and in one swift motion slammed his foot down into the ice before Katara's feet, bending the water outwards in a thousand droplets, much to her sudden astonishment - then he allowed it to return over her head, drenching her from head to foot when he released it. She cried out in surprise, clutching her frigid body in fright, as a few of the more arrogant boys laughed to themselves.

"What the hell do you -!" Katara started, abruptly cold and shivering and enraged.

"You are not paying attention!" Pakku chided her, bending a few large icicles suddenly to his hand, and then shoving them swiftly, uninterestedly, into her hand. "Here - target practice. You and the rest of the back row. Hit the middle of the pillar, while I take the others aside to train at water-whips."

A loud groan emitted from the back row, as water-whips were what everyone looked forward to doing in training. They were the most difficult task at this level - afterwards was higher things, multiple ice-daggers, massive waves, whirlpools and the like. A few of them grumbled unpleasantly at Katara as they went towards the target-pillars (where the target was a blue-shaded spot about two inches wide) but Kimba effectively silenced them with a glare, and a reminder that Pakku was the asshole, not their new Princess. Kimba even helped Katara waterbend her clothes dry, lest she freeze at the arctic temperature.

"I'm sorry, Master Pakku," Katara tried to tell the Master as she walked towards the target. Pakku cast her a sideways glance that, as iron and irritated and humorless as it ever was, nonetheless seemed minutely pleased that she had found it fit to apologize.

"Get your mind off of boys and back onto your task. I have no patience for daydreamers."

He turned back to the rest of the class then, leaving Katara bewildered and infuriated at his assumptions and innuendos, and probably moreso because it had been a good guess. Kimba managed to drag her away before she attacked the older man, knowing she no match for the Master despite her inherent talent.

"What is his problem?" Katara seethed, raising an ice dagger in the air before her and sending it flying wildly, angrily, at the target. She missed the middle by about two feet. In rising fury she raised another one and sent it careening, flying clear past the pillar and vaulting down into the street below. It tore open the roof of a coral-cart, much to the owner's loud despair and disapproval. Kimba had to withhold a laugh, lest she incite Katara further to anger, and instead took aim at her own target, noting in the meantime:

"Yugoda says he needs a good lay."

Katara flung her next ice-dagger so wildly it almost tore through the arm of another student and she had to apologize. Kimba grinned lightly at Katara's reaction - one of total and obvious disgust.

"_Ew_! Oh my _god_ -"

"I _know_! He never got married, you know. The woman he proposed to didn't accept him."

"Oh..." Katara felt sudden sympathy for the Master, though it was replaced quickly with her consuming rage. "Well, that's kind of sad. I guess."

"Really? For him or the girl he proposed to?"

Katara couldn't hide her laughter after that, but luckily the all-seeing Pakku disregarded her mirth to interrupt some new fancy of Aang's.

"Avatar, what _do you think you're doing?"_

Aang looked up, bewildered and ashamed, from what he was doing. While all the other pupils were bust trying to perfect their water-whips (even though most of them were missing their targets terribly, and wildly smacking the students alongside them) he had steadily distracted himself by carving out a likeness of Momo from a subtle block of ice. It was hollow and wind whistled through it like a flute; it was actually an ingenious creation, but Pakku was not the type to encourage creativity in his lessons.

"Sorry, Sa', I ain't nev'r done nothin' like this 'fore - and couldn' be too bad, a' mean, is fun, y'know, doin' stuff with th' ice -"

"Fun?" Pakku roared, and his face went abruptly red with rage. "Can you fight an army with _snowflakes_, Avatar? Can you distract them by making _ice sculptures_? Perhaps if we taught our enemies the art of oragmi, they would rather make paper cranes than burn our cities down! Or maybe you can solve wars with a snowball fight, Avatar? Cease being ridiculous! You lack discipline, you lack _drive _-"

"Master Pakku... ?"

A small, twitchy little boy of about seven had appeared, randomly, behind the Master. He was a tiny thing, hardly big enough to reach the Master's waist, and he looked positively petrified of Pakku. Katara had immediate pity for him as Pakku whirled on him like a thunderstorm, Aang at a loss for words, the rest of the students simply eager to see the events unfold.

"What do you want?" snapped Pakku wildly at the messenger. The tiny sculpture in Aang's hand melted miserably, and he folded his hands together.

"The - the Guru Pathik requests the Avatar's presence," the boy said shakily, uncertainly in the waterbender's presence. Pakku huffed in blatant annoyance, and turned away so briskly it seemed rather like he had no care for the Avatar at all, which was kind of unnerving and relieving for Aang.

"Let him go. He's done nothing but make snow angels anyway, the fool," and instantly Pakku was back to correcting the stances of his students, and getting everyone's focus back on their training. Aang only managed a short revolt in the time it took for paku to disregard him.

"'Ey, I didn' -"

"Go on!" Pakku practically pushed him towards the twitchy boy, and Aang stumbled past the other students. There was not much warning or preparation, and in a weird way it was reminiscent of Acchai, in that Pakku got to the point very much like Jeong-Jeong, though with less cold savagery and more heated annoyance.

"See ya' 'round, I guess," Aang said uncertainly to Katara. Then he staggered through the snow after the boy, who was looking up at him as though he was some savior sent from heaven, eyes wide and shining in the sunlight. Kimba and Katara, being at the back, had the luxury of ignoring Pakku for the next few moments as he focused on the pupils up front, and waved goodbye to the Avatar.

"So, how long have you known him?" Kimba whispered aside to her before Pakku could bear down upon them.

"Not long at all... he came from the Union."

"The Union? Did he tell you anything about it?"

"He didn't, but..."

Conversations in the depths of the Library. The faint blue glow of healing water. His fingers tracing the line of her lip, beneath the light of a thousand falling stars.

"There was another man... who came with him..."

"Back to your task!" the Master suddenly called out, seeing the girls gabbing. "Raw talent is nothing if it is not trained!"

Pakku thumped the back of both of their heads, and Kimba and Katara regrettably returned to their training.


	7. No Mercy

I know I've been awall, and I won't bore you with excuses. I will tell you the next few chapters will be introducing a little more blood-pounding conflict...

Yeah, baby, yeah!

--

--

--

--

--

The man seated before the pond was almost naked, save for a brown loincloth wrapped around his more private areas, and the massive grey-white beard hanging down from his chin, hiding the stretched, dry kin on his chest. Aang had found the lush green grass, and the small moon-shaped pond, and the two black and white koi fish constantly circling one another to be more than a bit unusual; but this aged man was so out of place, with the ice walls looming around them, and the awkwardly warm atmosphere, Aang was having a hard time believing he was even awake.

The Spirit Oasis was accessible only through a small wooden door in the side of a glacier cliff, and the little twitch boy was no permitted inside. Aang did not exactly know how to approach the man, who was meditating on the other side of the pond, and was seriously wishing for some back-up right about now. Luckily he was spared any awkward phrases like "S'cuse me, sa'" or "You ev'n 'wake?" by the Guru opening one lazy eye and setting it on the airbender.

"Hello, Aang. I am Guru Pathik. How are you doing today?"

He said it very casually, like he was some distant friend who'd just bumped into Aang at the market place. His massive, bushy white eyebrows raised like caterpillars, and Aang had a hard time not looking at them.

"I'm... I'm fine, Sa'," he managed.

"Really? Even after what happened in Masabi?" the Guru raised his eyes questioningly, and the blood rushed suddenly out of Aang's face. He felt himself go really cold, even though the air was warm.

"'Ow do ya'... 'ow you know, 'bout tha'?" Aang's mouth was abruptly dry. He wondered how fast news could travel in this world, how fast messengers birds could fly. How many people knew the Avatar had slaughtered and scarred an entire district of Masabi, full of innocent people. The protector of peace turned to herald of war and woe.

But an expression of delight had come across the Guru's face. Aang found that distracting, as well as oddly and inexplicably inappropriate.

"I listen very carefully. The spirits get quite talkative sometimes - especially that bloody monkey..."

"Spirits? You go talkin' to spirits?" Aang completely ignored the monkey comment, regarding this man as a few tiles short of a Pai Sho set, and jumped on the change in subject. The Guru smiled again, a very aged, toothless sort of grin, and seemed to let the Avatar guide away from the subject of Masabi.

"As can you. The spirit world is always connected to you, as you are the Avatar - the bridge between the two realms. And here in this place, in the Oasis, the spiritual world and the physical world come so close, that those like me are sometimes able to cross over."

Pathik settled back into his meditative position then, as Aang hesitated on the other side of the pond. With a very subtle, almost indiscernible nod, the Guru gestured for Aang to take a seat beside him on the odd, soft green grass. Aang fumbled, but finally walked around the edge of the pond and sat - but he had never meditated much before in his life, and he was unable to make his legs cross the way the Guru did. The Guru seemed not to care, closing his eyes again as Aang uncomfortably studied his surroundings, eventually focusing on the two fish swimming in the water.

Something about the koi fish gave him an unpleasant feeling of deja vu. The Guru opened one eye and looked at him, as though he was aware, even now, of Aang's internal conflict. The all-knowing gaze of Pathik made Aang a little more than uncomfortable, and in order to break the ensuing silence he said the only thing permissible in the situation.

"Wha's with th' fish?" the Guru grinned delightfully at Aang's inquiry, then gestured towards the Koi.

"Try and remember. You knew once, long ago, in a different life."

Aang exhaled sharply, uncomfortably, at this proposition. Remembering the incident with Roku at the Eye had turned him off spiritual things altogether; he had not immediate desire to go waltzing back in to any existential doings at the moment. He had enough problems in the physical world, where he had torn innocent (well, maybe not that innocent) people into several large pieces for acts of animal cruelty.

"I don' think I can 'member no diff'nt life, Guru Sa'," he said softly, unconvincingly. "I ain't no kind a' good at this Avatar stuff, see. No good..."

"Oh, what's with you? Saying you can't before you even try?" the Guru smiled encouragingly at the airbender. "I see we have a long way ahead of us. Let's start with what Roku told you, yes? And se if we can't figure out what his problem is. But first! Eat!"

He spun about and produced two plates of food from what seemed thin air, and oddly enough Aang wouldn't have put that past the Guru. Both of them had something slimy and green dripping on them, and in no way did they look edible. The looked alive and growing, but not edible. The Guru shoved a plate into Aang's hand and Aang's just stared at it, completely and utterly lost.

"Eat, eat!" The Guru encouraged him, and quickly devoured his own plate. At this point the Avatar wondered if he should have stayed with Zuko after all. The people in the Aurora Tribe were insane!

Aang looked unsurely at the sticky blob of blubber-meat and, grimacing all the while, raised a piece slowly to his lips, letting it slither down his throat.

Immediate regret was his reward, and he spit it out, scattering bits of food rather unceremoniously in the Spirit Oasis water.

"_Gyah_ - wha' is this? You tryin' to kill me?"

And the Guru smiled so wide Aang was sure he was off his marbles.

"It's pickled sloth-fish! Yum-yum!"

--

--

"In there, dears. Straight in there," Yugoda had led Toph and Suki to a makeshift ice-walled stable, where Appa and Momo were being housed and healed. It was not a very large place, though it was definitely large eough for the bison; the Aurora Tribe was a very overcrowded city and every available spot was in use. It contributed to the heavy crowds, which were as good to disappear in as they were to give away Suki or Toph's presence, and it was solel thanks to Yugoda's navigation that they made it through.

"Don't mind if I go back to the session for a spell, hm?" and Suki thought there was something earnest in the way Yugoda wanted to return to where Katara and Aang were, something a little too worried in her words. She allowed Toph off her arm, and the earthbender stubbornly refused to take Suki's, saying she could find her own way in the barn. There was no water to fall in here, she claimed.

"You'll be alright, then?" Yugoda asked them as she turned to leave, and Suki nodded encouragingly. "They're right in there, first stall on the left, bison and lemur both."

She left in a hobbling rush that Suki found oddly endearing. Then there was the click of Toph opening the stall door, and a screeching chitter, and a white blur bursting through the air.

Momo had flown straight at an unsuspecting Toph, still shaky from his ordeal and none too aerodynamic yet. The result was catastrophic, with the earthbender getting a face-full of fumbling lemur, as Momo struggled towards her arms and shoulder, bending winged arms unnaturally. Suki saw it all happening a second before Toph yelled, stumbled back, and went to fall. She reacted instinctively, leaping out to catch the girl before she cracked her head open on the icy floor.

Toph's reaction to Suki catching her was immediate and unwanted. She shouted a curse word and writhed in the Kyoshi-Shaman's grip like she was covered in hot coals, Momo fumbling back into the stall to curl up near Appa.

"I don't need your help, dammit!" Toph roared, thrashing Suki's arm away. "Why don't you just go back to your stinking swamp? You're not part of this!"

"Toph, it's ok," SUki knew Toph was lashing out, because of how helpless she felt. "You just slipped -"

"I don't need your help! None of us do! Sokka just found you and you decided to tag along for a free ride!" Toph exclaimed vehemently.

Toph, of course, had now idea of what had occurred between Sokka and Suki - her words were more generalized, in essence to say Suki had come along to add excitement to her boring, swamp-filled life. Suki, however, took it more personally - like she had followed the Prince to get laid. The Kyoshi-Shaman had to check her rage before replying, already numb with the lingering sight of the Moon Spirit hanging over her.

"I... I didn't come for that..."

"Whatever. I'm going... " Toph's voice went from bitter to broken in a matter of syllables, before she practically shouted out. "I'm going to see Appa!"

And so she did, stumbling into the stall and straight in Appa's huge, fluffy white body. The massive bison nudged her affectionately and gave a tremendous groan of approval, which only seemed to irritate Toph more. Her back was turned resolutely to a heart-torn Suki, the tears on her cheeks hidden by her long, ebony-black hair.

Suki stood watching her stumble away, and realized she needed to see Sokka - needed to see him before this aching fear ate a hole in her heart.

--

--

The caravan moved slowly now to Al-Sahir, where Lord Qin unknowingly awaited them. Zuko led, with Jeong-Jeong at his left, and Hakoda at his right, hooves of their steeds clicking on in silence. Randhir tossed his head, impatient, as though he knew something dangerous and exciting was about to happen. Myobu walked beside the Chief, having avoided the confrontation at Al-Omid, having avoided most of them for a good many days. The Spirit being had been nursing his wounds in silence, the unintentional affect of his attacking the Emperor. He limped now in his right back leg - not a bad limp, not an entirely noticeable limp, but nothing much escaped the eyes of the vicious General and the fiery Zuko and the strong, powerful Chief.

"Will you be joining in, Myobu?" Hakoda fainlly asked the silent Spirit-Fox, pacing uncharacteristically close to the Chief. His words asked if Myobu would join them in the attack on Al-Sahir; his eyes asked it Myobu was in ailment, and needed attention.

_I think it is best I stand aside._

Myobu had denied Hakoda's intervention, though really he did not look very well at all. His eyes were glassy and seemed to sag, and his steps were heavy on the barren earth of Acchai. What sin and anguish he had taken from Long Feng, none of these mortals could ever know - but it was weighing on him like a drowning-stone. Myobu would bite no other man as he had bitten Long Feng, if he could help it.

Jeong-Jeong had not spoken to Zuko since Al-Omid, and it had been nearly two hours. Zuko was quite proud of himself, however, and not in much absolute fear of the irate General as he had been. His confidence was a danger in regards to the General, had he known the man better. Jeong-Jeong was not used to being disagreed with, however used he was to taking orders, much less being disagreed with by a man who was, for all other purposes, his pupil. Jeong-Jeong did not train Zuko and have him slay for a respectable cloak to have his intentions visibly defied in the court of Al-Omid. He was also considering Zuko a very stupid and naive boy at this point, though Hakoda stopped him from saying so. Luckily for Zuko, the presence of The Wolf Clan Chief - who commanded more respect from the General than any other man Zuko was ever to meet - meant a safer passage for him in Acchai, not only from outsiders, but from the General himself.

"We are going to have a long talk when this is over. _If_ you survive it," the General's voice was either sharp as ice, or raw as fire. Zuko would never be able to tell.

Zuko kept looking forward, and grinned despite himself. Before he replied he lifted his left arm, looking at his wrist, where Katara's swinging blue necklace hung.

"Don't worry. You'll have all the time in the world to lecture me."

Then he kissed the blue stone, and they crested the hill to see Al-Sahir, and the dwelling of Qin.

Al-Sahir was not nearly the size of Al-Abhad, but it was a formidable rival. It had been built on a massive, flat-topped hill to make it almost impossible to besiege, the slopes rising straight up, coated in foliage and muddy earth. The stone walls were high and flat and unscalable, bordered with watchtowers and archers roaming lazily upon the ramparts. The towers at his corners had slitted windows to protect his hidden archers, and one even looked like it had a catapult atop it. It looked an altogether impenetrable sort of place, and none too friendly. There were scorch marks and sword cuts on the stone, so it seemed Qin was experienced in war upon his Lordship. All around his dwelling fields were green and flourishing, and there were figs trees curling up alongside the sloped stone; the river (which Qin had refused to re-direct) seemed just on the border of his lands, where a long stretch of rice-field ended. There plan on entry was simple, and if it worked the outer walls wouldn't matter. Zuko soundly did not want to resort to besieging Al-Sahir.

Zuko took a long look at it, discussing a few odd details with Jeong-Jeong, before calling Sen Su. Pipsqueak came at his side, the ever-present body-guard of sorts, grinning his wide, iron grin. Zuko had him take a place at the back of their party, relaying a message to all the earthbenders.

"I want a contingent of earthbenders around myself and Sen Su. Jeong-Jeong and Hakoda will follow after me, in the same fashion. Seven steps from the dais will work. And make it look peaceful."

They marched slowly down the road to Al-Sahir, Sen Su's bow bumping lazily against his back. He was grinning freely, for the first time since Zuko had met him.

The gateman was not too old, but not too young either - he had a slowing, distant, regretful look in his eye, as if he was just starting to realize he was past youth. Some soldiers with swords stood tense on either side of the gate, looking suspiciously (though not suspiciously enough) at Zuko's small party. The majority of Jeong-Jeong's men they had left over the crest of the hill, to avoid the notion that Zuko was a threat. Only about thirty men were with Zuko, not counting Sen Su, Hakoda and Jeong-Jeong; Pipsqueak was momentary captain of the rest of the soldiers, standing patiently with Myobu on the hilltops for any sign of distress from Zuko's party.

"Who calls?" the gateman tried to say it in a powerful tone, but it came out rather wistful and sad. Zuko made a note to perhaps send him on a vacation, when he was Lord.

If he became Lord.

_Now is not the time to doubt,_ Myobu would have said.

"Lord Zuko of Al-Omid, by conquest. I have come to greet my neighboring Lord, in hopes I may establish peace between us, as I begin Lordship."

It was a lie so thick Zuko could feel it on his tongue. The gateman looked lazily at them all, and then creaked the doors open.

The trust and stupidity of man followed even here, even into the realms of Acchai. Men always believing they are safer than they really are. But Jeong-Jeong had broken Zuko from that belief.

"What do you have to present?" the gateman asked lazily. Zuko struggled not to smile, as he drew a heavy bag of coins from his side, compliment of Hakoda.

"General. This is Lord Zuko of Agni. He wants to greet Lord Qin."

"This is many men for just a greeting party," the gruff man noticed, which made Zuko sweat a bit, until he realized the General was talking only about the men with Zuko - all the soldiers waiting with Pipsueak back on the hill had still gone unnoticed.

"I heard your Lord was very powerful. I didn't want to come in an unseemly fashion."

He said it so smoothly and meekly that the General was persuaded, and allowed them to pass inside. He remained close by Zuko's side as they went, however, and Sen Su, who must have recognized the man, kept his head low and turned away from beneath the hood of his cloak.

As was custom, the Generals lined the dais behind the Lord Qin, each with their personally crafted armor, celebrating their dedication to the household. A General was gifted great armor when he'd won his first battle for his Lord, and afterwards hardly ever took it off; one man was in iron plates, dented somewhat from what seemed a hammer-mark, streaked with red paint. Others had leather armor with inscriptions in several tongues, barbarian or romantic, with golden tassels of bravery hanging at their shoulders; most had huge, metal helms that half-covered their heads, made them seem faceless and inhuman. They all wore animal cloaks as a sign of their triumphs, great cats and bears and even small moose-lions - but none so imposing as Zuko's black panther, Jeong-Jeong's massive, white mole-bear.

Qin, however, looked small in comparison to his Generals. He was not a small man, persay - in fact he was quite tall, taller even then Jee and Pipsqueak - but he was sinewy and unfilled, as though he had not accomplished enough to deserve his height and stature. His face was very drawn and inward-looking, as though his entire being was somehow trying to cave in and fill the empty gleam in his eye, in his soul, his very spirit. There was very little to him really, besides what seemed a stern hand and a hard eye, and no real formidable power or intelligence - at least not enough to be worried about. His graying hair he had tied back in a tight bun, which drew the skin away from his forehead and made him looked eve more stretched and uncomfortable and unimposing than ever. His golden robes, it seemed, were the only thing that gave him any look of power or authority.

Zuko stopped, seven strides away from the dais. That was the measurement agreed upon with his earthbenders. Seven steps.

"Who calls at Al-Sahir?" said Qin with a smug, suspicious, but all too haughty and inattentive tone.

The motion Sen Su made was so fluid and swift not even the earthbenders beside him noticed it. The composite bow was in his hand and the string was drawn, and the red hawk feathers flickered in a tickle against his cheek; two identical arrows he put to the bow, drew back graciously, effortlessly. One General seemed to open his mouth to say something, recognized the sudden danger - but then the subtle, deceiving _twang_ of the bowstring, and two of the General's throats were ripped clean out. Two flawless shots, and the dark eyes of Sen Su.

The next few moments went by in a blur of rubble and noise and arrows. The earthbenders realized in unison that Sen Su had taken his shot, at the same moment the soldiers at Al-Sahir did; they all made their moves simultaneously, in a very strange, cryptic sort of choreography. Zuko was only aware of the earth ripping up around them so to shield them, and Sen Su loyal at his side, and the flurry of arrows just above his head - and then everything went dark as the turtle-shell of stone closed around them, and Zuko was running forward through the black, trusting in the skill of Jeong-Jeong's earthbenders.

One. Two. Three steps taken in the dark.

Something exploded against the side of the earth-shell, like the blast of a ferocious fireball. Zuko wondered if it was a firebender of Qin's, or an ill-aimed defensive shot from Jeong-Jeong.

Four. Five. Six steps taken in the dark.

At the seventh step Sen Su yelled so loud it echoed through the shell and outward; the earthbenders, however, had also been counting, and tore their defense away almost as soon as Sen Su opened his mouth.

When the shell opened up, and light poured in through the crack, Zuko was ecstatic to see the plan had gone as he'd hoped; a wall of blazing red fire, cast from Jeong-Jeong's deadly hand, had enveloped the back of the dais; the Generals were distracted by the whirling wraith of Hakoda and the waves of soldier earthbenders, who were there mostly to occupy time and not quite kill anyone; the Lord Qin was directly before him, looking scared and astonished, attempting in vain to run.

Zuko did not reach out and grab the Lord. He leapt, graceful and powerful and deadly, like a hawk descending on a rat. All the men in Qin's court saw Zuko take his leap, black panther cap billowing behind him like a raven's wings, the herald of death. He slid the white knife from his sleeve and it glinted in the sunlight, blinded Qin as he looked up in terror.

Zuko's knees landed on the side of his right shoulder, as he turned and tried to run. The impact spun Qin about and he landed hard, crushed beneath Zuko's weight, face-down on the steps of the dais. The breathe flew from his lungs, and his chin split open; he would have howled in pain as the blood poured out, but there was no air in his lungs, and the glittering white knife was already at his throat, cold and cruel.

Arrows turned on Zuko. General's swords came into view. Zuko lifted up the Lord's head as he struggled to get breathe, pulling him back by his long, graying hair.

"I am Lord Zuko of Agni. I have your Lord at my mercy. Lay down your arms."

His voice was very cold against the smoldering, treacherous eyes of the Generals and their men.

For a second, everyone in the courtyard froze, recalculated. Generals raised there hands to cease-fire, and soldiers stopped dead wherever they were, in the midst of fights or not.

One man didn't. One foolish man, who helped to doom his own Lord's life, by not listening to the demand of his General.

Zuko heard the bow scream, saw the glitter of the iron-tipped arrow in the sun, and in a swift and effortless motion released the Lord, cleaving it in two with his knife. In that horrible moment two things happened; first, Sen Su roared and dove to knock Zuko away from the arrow of another archer, who had taken up the opportunity to kill - and second was an act of cowardice on the part of Lord Qin, which probably sealed his own fate.

Even as Sen Su knocked Zuko out of the way of the second arrow, he had his own arrow in his bow, and had fired on the Lord. The Lord Qin spun across his own General, sending him flying into the path of the arrow. The iron tip went straight through the General's heart and stuck there, sickeningly.

Zuko didn't have time to realize a third General was dead until he had latched his grip back around the Lord's ankle and dragged him, punishment-like, back to his mercy. The Lord writhed like a disobedient child until the blade was at his neck again.

"Hold!" it was the voice of one of Qin's other Generals, a fierce, icy voice. In an effort to cease bloodshed, he instated the cease-fire for the second time.

It took several seconds for the court to realize what had happened. Both Sen Su and Zuko had been missed by the idiot archers, who had already been reprimanded by their officers. That, and a third General was dead, due to Qin, who had purposefully thrown him in the way of the arrow.

Zuko saw it going through the minds of the Generals as Sen Su stood tense beside him, bow loaded. Qin blubbered at the knife-point, but Zuko had no pity for him. The General who had spoken - a very dark-skinned man with long, black, dreadlocked hair - had is hands raised to keep his men from attacking. His armor was stained with blood and sweat, and his cloak was a of a snow-leopard, spotted beautifully. He looked upon Zuko without much fear, but upon Qin with horrible distaste.

The body of the slain General lay awkwardly, sprawled unceremoniously on the dais. Blood dripping down the steps.

"The man with the bow. Who is he?"

The dreadlocked General was referring to Sen Su, who stood quietly (if seethingly) beside the Lord of Agni. Perhaps the General was trying to gain some control on the situation? Zuko cast a glance at the man, who returned the look questioningly, wondering what his Lord wanted of him.

"Speak for your own," Zuko told him. Sen Su did not hesitate, blindly confident by the sight of his mother's killer at knife-point.

"I am Sen Su. Sela was my mother. My blinded father travels with us."

He said it flatly, but beneath it there was a tremor, a longing for justice and vengeance that Zuko was about to fulfill. Jeong-Jeong heard it, Hakoda heard it, the Generals on the dais heard it, and Zuko heard it. It was a great part of being a man of Acchai - words were not so important as they were in the Union, useless, empty, meaningless words.

"Sen Su follows you?" the General asked, in recognition of the man. Zuko repressed his grin.

"He does."

The General narrowed his eyes at Zuko, but for some reason this only heightened Zuko's hope. As he had caught a lucky turn at Al-Omid, so had he caught one here. Sen Su's presence in is army had affected the judgment of the General - there was no leap to defend the Lord, nor even the action toward revenge if Zuko slit his throat. Sen Su's dedication had persuaded them to think, for a moment. And so the General did, never tearing his eyes away from Zuko, poised and ready for the strike.

"He put an arrow in my fellow General," his voice was like Jeong-Jeong's, but lighter.

"It was meant for your Lord," Zuko said it before realizing how stupid it sounded.

"That does not improve his standing."

"No. But it was your Lord who put him in the path of the arrow, not Sen Su."

The General seemed to consider this for a long moment. It was a very good sign for Zuko. After a long moment of examining the young firebender, the General's shoulders seemed to sag a little, as though he was starting to let his guard down, and Zuko's heart leapt into his throat, choked with fear and hope.

"He was a friend of mine. A man named Oruki. He was a great earthbender."

Zuko resisted the temptation to say "I'm sorry". This was not the proper response, not here, not in Acchai - to be sorry denoted weakness, denoted pity, none of which these men deserved or wanted or possessed.

"I'm sure he was," Zuko finally said.

"It was very swift. And very stupid. We thought you were coming to pledge loyalty."

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

"You're outnumbered, you know."

Zuko felt his blood run cold as the General's gaze hardened, but he did not allow himself to despair.

"I'm aware."

"Then why did you come? Why, when you know any moment I could feather you with arrows?"

Zuko had thought about this, all the way to Al-Sahir. He had never been much good at making up important speeches on the spot, so he had practiced this one thoroughly. Of course, even when he did practice it usually came out as incoherent babble, but he was praying and hoping to articulate himself properly this time. So whether it was his steady internal practice, or some luck or gift given to him in that moment by the great Agni, Zuko managed to hold his own, and speak his mind.

His next words would probably determine whether or not the Generals joined him or killed him. He tried not to think about that.

Instead he thought of the necklace at his wrist. And he found all the courage he needed.

"At Al-Omid, I saw suffering. I also saw good men, with good hearts, such as the Lord Jee. If not for this man I hold at knife-point, they would all be in health. Instead they die slowly, starved and weak, for no other reason than this man's greed. It is a wrong that must be corrected - because the lives of those Acchain people are more important than my own."

Silence overcame the courtyard. Hakoda's grin spread across his face as it had in Al-Omid; a flitter of disgust, disbelief - it was so brief, one could barely catch it - flittered across Jeong-Jeong's face, and then he was stern again, unmoving.

No one had ever spoken this way in Acchai before. It was unheard of that a Lord should much care for the people who lived beneath him; not even the Generals commanded much attention from their Lords. In Acchai, you reached your place in life through birth and conquest and luck, but for all the opportunity this system promised, it was still more than likely a man was not to rise above a soldier or a captain. Farmers and peasants had always been disregarded, as long as they had existed; the fact that Zuko was showing empathy towards an entire estate of citizens was not only unheard of, it was absolutely unbelievable.

So Hakoda smiled, and Jeong-Jeong scowled. Zuko, the strangest Lord of Acchai.

Something flickered in the face of the General, and was lost.

"If you kill the bastard now, I will follow you."

Zuko understood, then, what made men Generals. He had believed, when first meeting Jeong-Jeong, that only men who possessed authority could command that title - only men who had braved the desert lands of Acchai for countless years and survived its perils. But the man before him was younger than Jeong-Jeong, in his late twenties or so; some of his soldiers were decades his senior. No; age and experience did not command the title of a General.

Generals where men who fought, lived and died to fight. As Jeong-Jeong was a blood-god, who breathed death and bled revenge, so was this General before him, if more subtly. They were a singular marvel of men, born to slay, to strategize, to improve the methods of war, and in battle they were hell's angels, instruments of judgment. No other place was fitting for them, and with the promise of Zuko's conquest - Zuko's war to unite Acchai - they found a way to fulfill their purpose. They were warrior-devils, and Zuko could be their heathen god. It was in this way Jeong-Jeong could never become a Lord, nor could Hakoda ever become a General.

"Please... please don't kill me..."

There were tears in Qin's eyes; poor, pathetic tears sliding down his pale cheeks, dripping onto Zuko's knuckles, tight and white on the pearl dagger. The General watched him, arms crossed, eyes as every bit as piercing and cruelly methodical as Jeong-Jeong's.

Sen Su hissed something between his teeth, something that sounded like _Sela_ - but Zuko did not turn his head, did not look away from the General on the dais.

"I'll give you everything... just - please, mercy, have mercy..."

Zuko's shoulder jolted back, wrist turned. Qin's begging halted, became a horrid gag, a splutter. White metal in white flesh, sliding out like water.

Zuko never broke eye contact with the General.

Qin collapsed to the floor, grappling weakly at his neck, but the slice was too deep. Zuko's hand and wrist were drenched in blood, white blade dripping red.

"What is your name?" Zuko asked the General before him, who's face had lighted briefly with a smile.

"General Bato. It is an honor," he went down to his knee and placed a fist upon his heart. In moments the three other remaining Generals did the same, and Zuko was declared Lord of Al-Sahir. It was a swift and practical thing; Zuko had killed Qin, and now the Lordship was his. There were no questions or debates among the people, among the soldiers, among the Generals.

They knew the ways of Acchai, and they knew Zuko was a capable leader. They also knew he was a strange leader, but they were willing to let that unfold, for now.

"Lord Jee will run this estate now. Send a messenger to Al-Omid to receive him. He will also give you plans to moving the river."

Sen Su stared at the dying body of Qin, mad rapture in his eyes. Zuko saw it and knew - knew better than he knew his own name, than he knew his own scar, than he knew the blue gem necklace dangled at his wrist. He knew Sen Su would never betray him.

Zuko left with Bato and the other Generals, and most of Qin's former soldiers, upping his army to about 1,400 men. Sen Su was at his right hand from then on, for as long as Zuko waged his conquest. They were past the borders of Al-Sahir before all the blood had left Qin's body, his figure still twitching on the ground.

--

--

"My love, my warrior... may I ask you something?"

It was a stupid and needless formality, Jet knew. Azula commanded his every action, his every breathe. The idea of _asking_ him something was laughable.

Only Jet didn't laugh anymore. Not in these days, of war and lies and deceit.

"Yes," he said, and went back to kissing her neck ravenously. The firebender enjoyed it lavishly for a few moments, before resuming her request.

"One of the soldiers intercepted a hawk today, going to the Northern Aurora Tribe. It was from a man named Chief Hakoda."

"And?"

Jet paused in pursuit of her endless ivory skin, though her body begged for more beneath him.

"It was addressed to a Prince Sokka, and in it, he mentioned my brother. It also mentioned the Avatar."

Jet did not respond anymore, not even to the mention of Zuko. He was fully gone, all the light crushed out of is small world, revolving around Azula.

"And love... I don't like the looks of what was written. They are going to try to undo everything we've created. So I asked you... would you do something for me?"

Bloodlust entered his eyes. Azula adored him when he was upon the war-path, when that insatiable, blood-curdling look came into his dark eyes. Like her own personal demon.

"Anything you want."

He said it without any inflection. He was still over her, and the sight was sickening, terrifying - because their situation was so intimate, but his eyes were so empty, dark and dreadful and haunting. Azula looked up at him like a snake before the strike, heedless of his insanity.

"I want you to go to the Northern Aurora Tribe. I want you to kill the Avatar."


	8. The Black Lane

So... guess who deserves a pie in the face for not updating in forever?

ME.

And not a delicious, banana-y, creamy-filled pie.

Nuh-uh.

A sweaty, finger-filled, chunktastic, Sweeney-Todd pie of DOOM.

You may now commence throwing.

--

--

--

When Sokka returned to his room that afternoon, he was not expecting to see the Kyoshi-Shaman.

It was snowing outside. It made the iced streets and towering white-blue buildings of the Aurora Tribe seem smaller somehow, a tiny city in a snowglobe. Windows frosted over and even some of the waterways began to ice over at their edges; Sokka slipped more than once as he returned to the massive white hall, set alongside the Chief's own home, a great and unexpected honor. It hadn't been his only unexpected honor that day.

Affairs of war had always been Sokka's calling. All the affairs of Acchai had been intertwined with such things; political struggles came down to brothers decapitating one another; economic issues had been solved by the burning of a Lord's rice fields; taking a wife meant _taking _the woman, even if meant killing her former husband. Jeong-Jeong had groomed him, trained him to deliver justice with an iron hand, for there was no other way of dealing in Acchai. There were no manner or customs abided other than those of war, no elegant symbolic meetings, no diplomatic relations. Matters of diplomacy were solved with the sword and the bow, not with a silver tongue. Men who tried to persuade others with words were considered cowards in Acchai, crawling ants.

The Aurora Tribe was different. Here, no legacy of war pervaded the cold streets. Men's actions were not dependent on the immediate and terrible resolution of a warlord or ruthless General. They were dependent on foreign relations, on the complicated aspects of trade and commerce, on political policies. Arnook had come to Sokka out of desperation, seeing a nation on the brink of poverty and starvation. Arnook needed a plan from the Aurora Prince, a plan to save the people from the impending doom of a broken economy and surrounding nations at war.

And Sokka's instinctive reply, as it played out inside his head, as it played out with Jeong-Jeong's voice.

_Just send your warships and raid some weaker nations._

And Sokka did not imagine Arnook would like that reply.

Sokka, in fact, was beginning to doubt if he did.

He entered his room exhausted, boxing away Arnook's concerns by focusing on the dinner that would soon be delivered to his room. He was, however, pleasantly surprised to find another sort of delivery waiting for him.

"Suki?"

He could only dare to hope, with her sitting at the edge of his bed like that. Wild memories of her naked body, of the dizzying warmth in her endless skin... he could only dare to hope.

"Sokka..."

But when she looked at him, he saw fear in her eyes. The same kind of fear that had entered him when Jeong-Jeong had roared, deep and peircing, of the bloodbender's approach; the same fear that pulsed, ignited every inch of his paralyzed frame as his blood was captured, twisted, pulled slowly through the skin. He doubted Zuko would ever know of the terrible horror the firebender had saved him from. The only time Sokka wanted to weep, to beg, to plead, and was too insane with fear to do so.

This was the same sort of fear Suki looked at him with - the deep, powerful, consuming kind, the kind that not even the most conceited man in Acchai would boast to overcome. Some fear was real. Living. Breathing.

"I know her. Knew her."

He came to her side and put an arm around her, quiet, soft. She was shaking already.

"Who?" he hoped she would not break down at his question. She inhaled sharply, but her voice broke only a little when she replied.

"The Princess Yue."

"You mean... the Moon Spirit?" Sokka didn't want to feel dim, but he had to ask, gently. "Suki... you can't have known her. She lived hundreds of years ago. Maybe... maybe you knew someone who looked like..."

But Suki was shaking her head, and her body trembled. Sokka wrapped his other arm around her in a full embrace, tried to keep her still, tried to transfer some peace into the chaos of her body. She buried into his shoulder, and he felt the first warm, hesitant tears slide onto his furs.

"No, Sokka...!" she shook, and he gripped her close, completely at a loss of what to say or do. Her voice came out broken, high, forced; he could hear in the strained tremor of the way she spoke how difficult it was for her to say.

"Do you... Do you remember when I told you... about that woman I killed?" he bit his lip, descended to play little kisses on her forehead.

"Suki, I already told you, it's ok... you didn't know, you were so young -"

"No! _Please_. You don't understand," she pushed him off, not enough to break his embrace, but enough to stop his kissing. Her voice was strained in such a dangerous way that Sokka wanted to tighten his hold on her, she seemed so fragile in the torchlight, so lost...

"Suki... I know. I know it's hard. The first time... the first time I killed a man..."

Sokka couldn't get the words out. He had been twelve when the barbarian had tried to hack off his head. He remembered only glimpses; swinging the bladed club wildly, the man's form falling on top of him, infinitely heavy. The heavy stench of his body and the entire front of his clothes soaked in blood. Suki was looking up at him, wide-eyed, desperate, seeking something he wasn't sure he could give.

"Suki, its horrible. You never... you're just having a hard time, understanding what -"

"No, _no_! _You_ don't understand!" and then Sokka was terrified, because her hands had flown to grasp the front of his shirt, and a dangerous ring of tears had formed in her eyes. "It was _her_. It was her..."

She lowered her face into his shoulder as the tears fell - the mad, confused, despairing tears - and Sokka felt his throat go dry.

It took him a moment. A long, endless moment, as though some part of him knew he didn't want to know.

_It was her._

A lady in white, with deceptively familiar eyes, sparkling clear as crystal.

"I don't _know_," Suki mumbled into his shirt, wet with her tears. "I just don't know..."

For a long time he held her in the dim light of the room, his own heart beating loud, trying to make sense of the situation. Trying to rationalize - it was impossible, it was a terrible, horrible thought. And yet in his core Sokka knew Jeong-Jeong had told him stories of this - of spirits coming to their earth, in escape or in mission. Even now two fish circled each other in an ancient pool, cast forever beneath the moon. Suki sobbed into Sokka's shirt as he thought these things, and the Prince tried to comfort her as best he could. Her untamed hair was beautiful and long in the lamplight, and Sokka stroked it absentmindedly as he thought. Th gesture seemed to bring the Kyoshi-Shaman back to reality after a few moment, her face tear-streaked and still wildly upset.

"I'm sorry," she wiped eagerly away at her swollen, wet face, ashamed of her weakness. "God, I'm sorry. I'm so... so..."

"It's alright... Suki," Sokka took her face in one hand, so that he made sure she was looking at him. "It was a long time ago, Suki. And if it was... if it really was Yue... I'm sure there was a reason. I'm sure it needed to be done. She is a good spirit, and wouldn't have asked you to otherwise."

Suki looked like she would fall over and cover him in relieved kisses right then and there; but she restrained herself long enough to wrap her arms tight around the Prince in thank you. Her body was warm and it made an intense, pleasing feeling run through the course of Sokka's body. She pulled away from him still blinking back tears, looking very upset at herself.

"God, I'm sorry," she wiped at her face again. "I must look terrible..."

"You are beautiful," Sokka meant it, found in guilt and delight how beautiful her flushed, tear-sparkled cheeks looked in the lamplight. He was reminded strongly, vividly of their night at Masabi, of her gorgeous curves and the delicate tan of her skin. It got muddled with his concern for her, a desire to ease her mind. "You are... always beautiful."

A small smile escaped her lips. She reached up and put a hand on his face, warm and soft.

"You're... just saying it," she sniffed, cast her eyes downward, away from his gaze. "I'm not like... not like..."

Whoever she was about to compare herself to, Sokka did not give her the chance. His lips were on hers, and he was dying, flooded with the memory of her - skin, lips, warmth. The sound of her sighs. The inside of her.

She responded in hesitance, still haunted by the emotional tole of the day. Sokka knew it was there, knew it weighed on her mind and tried to relieve her the only way he knew how - he whispered to her, whispered how thoroughly he loved her, admired her. Pulled her into the safety of his arms and let her wrap herself around him. Buried his face into her neck, kissed the tender skin. It was enough for her to let go; she sank into him, closed her eyes and succumbed to the pleasure of his wandering lips.

"Sokka..."

She felt the bed beneath her, felt her hands at his chest, hard as stone beneath the furs. The Prince was sliding his lips down her neck in unrelenting pursuit, as enamored with her now as he had been at Masabi. He lingered overlong in one spot; to kiss across the top swell of her breast. Suki arched into him, allowed her leg to slip down beside his, and -

- and her foot collided with the stand for the oil lamp.

The oil pan collapsed from underneath the light and the lamp went out. Thankfully the entire thing had not fallen over, lest the room should catch fire; but the pan had still clattered, deafeningly, to the floor, spilling the sticky liquid across the bear-rug carpet. Suki leapt at the sound, while Sokka remained blissfully unaware for another few moments.

"Oh, I spilled the oil everywhere - God!" Suki wriggled her way out of Sokka's grip (who was, understandably, disappointed) and grabbed a cloth from the side-table. Sighing at the though of the whole carpet bursting into flames, she added: "This stuff just isn't that safe to have around!"

"What? What isn't?" Sokka said stupidly, wanting her back, half-crawling towards her. Suki, however, was already on her knees, trying her best to wipe up the mess with the borrowed cloth.

"What?" Suki looked at him from where she was wiping the floor, slightly put-off and annoyed by his inattentive behavior. "The oil, Sokka -"

"The oil?"

And then a light clicked on in Sokka's head. A brilliant, god-awful, life-saving light.

"The _oil! The oil!_"

"Yes... yes Sokka..."

"Yes! What? Why isn't it safe?" Sokka sounded ridiculous, and the look on Suki's face said so; but she humored him, if only out of emotional exasperation.

"Well... its so flamable. I get why they need it, I mean, they need lights and machines and things - don't bother helping or anything, Sokka..."

"...Machines," Sokka was a million miles away, back in the Union, back before the train where he had encountered Aang and Zuko, back in the muddy streets of the city. People talking about _machines. _Tanks and mills and war balloons. Everywhere the growing stench of war - and of _war machines_.

"That's it. That's _it_, Suki!"

He leapt and took her up in his arms, whirling her around the room as she gave a short, startled gasp of surprise. Frozen with shock, she allowed him to put her back down and gaze, with a huge, slightly terrifying grin, into her beautiful face.

"Suki, that's it! What does an army need to keep it's machines in repair? What does it use to fuel war balloons?"

Suki bit her lip briefly, glanced nervously side-to-side, and raised an eyebrow.

"...Oil?"

"_YES_!" Sokka practically shook her, kissed her again, took her in his arms and spun, spun, until finally Suki forced herself away.

"Sokka, you're... really scaring me," she breathed, looking as though she'd entirely like to run from the room now.

"Suki, just listen. The Aurora Tribe is failing. They have nothing to trade - but they _do_, they just don't see it! It's just a quick fix, but it's what they need! If the Union's at war, they'll need oil, and lots of it - oil that the Aurora Tribe has!" Suki swallowed, swiftly tried to figure out what Sokka was talking about, and then muttered back her reply.

"But... can't they get oil somewhere else? And for cheaper?"

"No," Sokka was really excited now. "The Union has no natural oil supplies, they don't have the terrain. The Empire will be at war with them soon enough, so they aren't likely to get it from there... and Acchai's completely undependable. Suki!"

He grabbed her, embraced her, danced with her shocked in his arms around the room, kissed her when she laughed at his odd behavior, and finally roared out:

"We can export seal oil to the Union! We can help the Aurora Tribe!"

--

--

No sound entered the Spirit Oasis.

It had been that way for hours, and it was growing late.

Aang opened one eye hesitantly, keeping the other squinted tightly. He dared to glance over at Pathik.

The Guru was glaring narrow-eyed at him.

Aang snapped his eye shut again and felt his cheeks flush.

The silence endured as Aang studied the dark insides of his eyelids.

He breathed.

He sat.

He wished for something to eat.

He willed a bolt of lightning to strike him.

He opened an eye again.

"Uh... wha' was it I was concentratin' on, Guru Sa'?" Pathik sighed audibly.

"The binding, inner energy that connects you, as the Avatar, to all physical and spiritual creatures of this world."

"Aye... right."

The silenced commenced again.

Aang breathed.

And sat.

And tried to concentrate on the binding energy of the... the inner bind that... the physical energy that binded him to spiritual...

_Ah, fuck it, aye?_

Aang let out a very exaggerated sigh and slumped over.

"I ain't gettin' nowheres, sittin' 'ere, Guru Sa'."

"That is because you keep talking to me!" snapped Pathik. Irritated, the Guru pinched the bridge of his nose. "You must concentrate! Reach back into your memory. You must let go of yourself and become one with the energy of this place. Now gaze into the water and _concentrate_!"

Aang recoiled a little from the Guru, but gave an irritated sigh and slumped, gazing lazy-eyed into the water. The two Koi fish circled each other in the water, black and white, slow as the ripples in the water. Aang wondered, briefly, why the fish constantly circled one another. Perhaps it was a mating ritual... perhaps they'd been trapped in the pond so long they'd given up exploring.

A whisper crossed Aang's ear. Hardly enough to feel, to hear.

He started up a little at it and glanced at the Guru. Pathik's eyes were closed.

Another whisper, and another ripple in the water.

Aang half-rose from his meditative state, unnerved, uncomfortable. He looked over his shoulder, up at the sky, around the borders of the Spirit Oasis. There was something nearby that hadn't been there before, and it Aang severely disliked its presence. He was getting the same sort of feeling he had received at the Eye, in the roots of that cursed mountain, and it was making nervous sweat run down his forehead.

A whisper. A red moon.

Aang looked around wildly, heart beating like a drum. He'd heard a voice this time, _heard _it - a red moon. He fumbled over to the side of the Oasis, intent on splashing his face with the sacred water, despite the supposed offense it would cause.

The whispers grew abruptly, swiftly, suddenly in volume. Aang opened his mouth to cry out, hands flew to hold his head.

And then there was light.

Guru Pathik sighed in relief as he saw Aang's eyes and tattoos flood with that familiar glow, and reached for another bowl of picked sloth-fish.

The ground was cold. It was not like his visit with Roku, brief and intense and blood-rushing; it was slow and muted and cold, cold as fear, as death. Aang felt it embrace him, down to the marrow in his bones, like a ghost trying to possess him. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, breath coming out in a mist. The trees did not look real. They were leafless and barren, but they were not dead; their trunks were like arms reaching from the ground, their thousands of branches thousands of fingers, twisting, grasping towards the heavens. The ground was coated in ice and frost, but there was no snow; it was as though the world had been frozen at the exact moment of birth, at the exact moment when it should have been growing with life. Now it was cold and motionless.

The trees did not move. The frozen blades of grass did not quiver in a wind; the air was stale and stagnant. Everything seemed set as stone, but it was a horrible, horrible illusion; because just beneath the steely surface pulsed something dark and dreadful and cold. Aang was afraid to touch anything.

"Hello, Avatar Aang. It has been a long time since we last spoke."

Aang whirled and sent out a gust of wind; no reaction came from his fingertips, and he stumbled headlong into the grasping arms of a withered tree. The spirit-growth bent down towards him, creaking, screaming, snapping, full of darkness. Aang yelled and ripped himself away from it, tearing his shirt and stumbling down before the spirit. He looked up at her, wide-eyed, empty and lost.

The woman was gorgeous, clothed in white, a wedding gown of the Aurora Tribe. Yue was the Virgin Spirit of her people, the Holy Daughter to whom the Doves - her disciples in the Moon Temples - praised and serviced. Amongst spirits she was the most selfless and serene, though wisdom was still to be seen - she was a young spirit, and had not developed her place as thoroughly as Tui, as La, as the Tree-Daughters. Her hair flowed behind her like a cloud, like a memory, vanishing into the dark shadows of the cold spirit-forest, this wasteland. Her skin was ivory-white and hardly distinguishable from the coloring of her glowing dress or her drifting hair. In fact, the only thing about her not bather in the infinite white glow of her serenity were her eyes. Blue as sapphire, as a cloudless sky, as innocence.

"Wh..." Aang couldn't get the words out. He was too scared, too cold.

Yue did not at once move. There was fear, and regret, and doubt in her eyes. Then she bent forth and grazed her fingers across the airbender's forehead.

Warmth spread over Aang like a blessing. He shuddered and tried to look back into Yue's eyes.

"You... thank ya', ma'am... Who are...?"

Aang stopped. His voice had cut through the air like a knife, like a gust of northern wind, and it had made the branches of the trees shudder and wave.

She did not answer him right away. She simply gazed at him, endlessly serene and silent. It made Aang's insides go cold again, despite the warmth she had granted him. He felt as though he had intruded on some old, dangerous, sacred sort of place; as though he had offended her, and her silence was a stern one.

"You know who I am, Aang," she finally said.

Aang found himself nodding, instinctively.

"Yes, ma'am."

She watched him for a while longer, and Aang imagined her gaze softened. He wanted to ask her where he was, why he was here, her advice, her counsel. He had a million things to shout out - and yet the cold stifled his breathe, while his body remained warm. There was something encasing, suffocating about this place.

"Five hundred years ago, you were killed by a man named Long Feng."

Her voice reminded him of stars, falling.

"Long Feng?" Aang muttered, whispered. "...th' Emper'r at Masabi?"

For a moment there was silence. Then, with a low, subtle tone, Yue spoke words that sent daggers through Aang's heart.

"You would do well not to mention Masabi yet, Avatar."

Aang's heart seemed to sink from the weight of her words, but Yue continued without change.

"Your spirit is an eternal entity, Avatar. But five hundred years ago, you were slain in the Avatar State - and such a thing should have ended your existence altogether. You owe your existence now to myself, and the disobedience of your past life, Roku."

Aang nodded again. He was unable to speak, to think. he could only listen to her, bowed on his knees before the pure beauty of her being.

"Before your spirit was fed to Death, I gathered you up, saying I might bless the soul before it was lost. The Spirits allowed me. But in kindness of my heart, I disobeyed my nature. I sought for Roku, and he transferred what strength he had to you. It was enough to combat the grip Death had on you. It was enough for your spirit to survive. But your spirit was weak, and after the spirits learned of our treachery, we were punished. They vowed to keep you within the Spirit Realm until the Endtimes."

An image flashed across Aang's vision. A hollow egg, and a floating, disembodied light, shaped vaguely in the form of a young boy. He wondered if Yue had given him the vision, or if he was remembering it from some other time.

"They was gonna jus' let me rot there til I die?" Aang managed, horrified. Yue fixed him with a calm, but serious look.

"Any other action was considered an act against Fate. It is not given to spirits like me to decide who lives, and who does not. I was younger then, and more foolish... no being has the right to cheat Death."

"Wha... wha' happen'd? Wha' they do to ya'?" Aang tried to raise his chin, but he felt too heavy.

"As punishment for hindering the Avatar cycle, Roku's conscience was imprisoned. His spirit endured only in you. I was sent to the physical world, to suffer in another mortality."

"Sent? By who?"

Silence, and a flutter of cold, and stillness. Aang felt heavier still.

"It is not given to you, Avatar, to know such things."

Aang felt like his bones were made of lead. He felt he was going to start sinking into the ground soon. He was on all fours now, trying with each moment to raise his head to Yue.

"S'not... so bad. You jus' got... sent 'ere?"

"I would not expect you to understand the punishment. You are accustomed to the pressure and pains of a mortal life, and therefore cannot see the damage it wreaks upon the Spirits. Many Spirits openly admire mortals for their ability to endure this world. And I had required duties while I was mortal that caused me great anguish."

"I can't..." Aang couldn't move. His body felt like it was freezing, stiffening, becoming like the dreadful, motionless trees that surrounded him, like the cold and ever-enduring ice. His tongue and lips felt swollen; they were getting heavy and hard to move, and soon he wouldn't be able to speak.

"You are in very grave danger, Avatar," Yue seemed unmoved by his plight. "Unless you can bring peace back into the world, and restore a semblance of the Four Nations, you will be punished as well."

"Wha!" Aang had to practically cough it out; it was getting too hard to speak, and his next words were forced, loud, strained. "Wha those... Spirits... probl'm... with me?"

And suddenly Yue had grabbed the back of his head and jerked it up, and pain tore down through Aang like being ripped in half. His mouth and gums and lips too heavy to scream.

Yue's eyes were kind, as they were always kind. But they were also terrifying.

"Every time you have descended into the Avatar State, it has been on terms of rage. You have used this ancient power to slay for vengeance. You have abused the Spirit's gift and used it to take life. If you do not prove you are capable of handling such power, it will be taken from you."

She released his head. Aang cried out, stumbled forward from his sitting position, and splashed face down in the water of the Spirit Oasis.

The Guru was unmoved, eyes half-lidded and hollow.

"My, my. Not good. Not good at all, I think."

--

--

It was near sunset by the time Pakku allowed his groaning, sore pupils to trudge home. Katara was determined to make up for her earlier mishap and had pt her heart and soul into waterbending for the remainder of the day. She was now sweaty, tired, hair flown about her head, and niqab threateningly askew. She was fixing the head covering when an unexpected tap came at her shoulder. Thinking, perhaps, it was Aang back from training, she turned with a smile.

The man behind her was not a man she knew, and his smile made her skin crawl.

"You've perfected you're aim quite well, Princess," he grinned, disconcertingly.

He was about a year or two older than her, she guessed, with long night-black hair he'd tied back in a ponytail. He had a strong jaw that, coupled with a baby-doll handsome face, was making a few of the girl nearby grin and giggle with delight. He seemed quite adequately aware of their adoration; he even cast a wink at a group of them, to which they replied with rather obnoxious squeels of glee. He reminded Katara of a pompous ape puffing out his chest.

"Thank you... sir," Katara said hesitantly, and made a little bow. She cast a side-glance at Kimba, who had an annoyed look on her face. The man opened his mouth again to speak, taking a deliberate step towards the waterbender; at that moment, however, the aged Yugoda appeared over the crest of the training ground, and Katara was thankful to concentrate her attentions somewhere else.

"Here, dear," Yugoda said, shuffling up to Katara and Kimba. Toph was on her arm, looking in a very self-loathing state. "I found her wandering near the barracks. Thought she'd like to see you - so to speak, of course. Oh, Hahn - whatever are you doing here?"

Something in the way Yugoda said it made Katara think she knew _exactly_ why the young man was there.

"I was just introducing myself to the Lady Katara," he seemed to brush off Yugoda like an annoying fly. "Hahn is my name, of course. Prince Hahn. Of the Eel Tribe."

His eyes were dark and penetrating, in a way that made Katara feel special and unpleasant at the same time. He kissed her hand in a very chaste fashion, but held it for too long afterwards, as though he had a mind not to let go.

"I thought I smelled fish," Toph muttered, low enough so the man wouldn't here her. Katara knew better than to hiss in her direction, and only inclined her head gracefully to the acquaintance.

"Delighted."

Again, Hahn opened his mouth to say something else, but luckily never got around to it.

"I believe you've had enough training for one day, Katara," Yugoda was suddenly at the waterbender's side, taking her hand firmly. Something in the way she did it made Katara feel as though she'd done something wrong. "You too, Kimba. To dinner, and then to bed - you have another big day tomorrow."

Kimba took her other side, and Yugoda led the two of them away immediately from Hahn's presence, before he even had much time to say goodbye. Katara had not much liked the Prince of the Eel tribe, but she still thought it rather rude to leave him so swiftly, and decisively told Yugoda so.

"What's wrong? Did I do something? Did he do something?"

"You should not talk so much to Hahn, my dear."

Yugoda said it very flatly, which worried Katara and interested Toph. Kimba just huffed knowingly and let Katara ask her questions.

"Why not?"

"'Cause he's an ass," Kimba snorted to herself. Toph grinned and decided she liked the new waterbender; Yugoda cast the girl a swift, laughingly stern look, and then turned back towards Katara.

"He is... not a very trustworthy man. And he has set his eye on you, it seems, which does not bode well, if you want to stay true to your own love."

It took Katara a moment to realize what Yugoda had said - and when she did, her face flushed red, and Kimba giggled a little at her side.

"How do you know I...?"

"I am old and learned, dear," Yugoda said with a subtle, knowledgeable smile. "From the moment I saw you I knew. You're mother had the same look in her eyes when she thought of Hakoda."

Katara's heart jumped as she thought of Zuko again, of the darkness on the docks and the heat in his kiss. She was thankful, now, for the niqab - it shielded her embarrassment somewhat from others, kept her blushes hidden. If these were the kinds of conversations she was to start having routinely in the Water Tribe, she would never take off her niqab.

"So what's his name?" Kimba whispered at her side. Katara's face flushed so deep, she was sure even Toph could feel the heat from it.

"It's Zu -"

The high iced walls of the Aurora Tribe were going by them in alleys, in roads, in rivets of water. Katara had been studying them as they walked, too shy to meet anyone's eyes as she began her talk of Zuko. Her shyness was her undoing; the fates had taken her hand and tossed her into a destiny without warning, without ease. She saw the leper sprawled, twenty feet away, between the monstrous jagged bars of the gate. The lane looked as though it was filed with trash; heaps of used materials and ragged cloth and feces contaminated the white ice, lice crawling into deep places for warmth from the stinging cold. Wind whistled down between the close walls, dank clumps of hair shaking briefly in it wake - and it wasn't trash that filled the lane.

It was people. An endless, tangled, dirty, dreadful heap of people. Their skin was pale, and had taken on a blueish hint between the brown smudges of their own filth; with old, dirty, ripped clothing they had bundled themselves as best as their weak limbs would allow, clambering together for warmth despite sickness, despite nudity, despite filth.

Katara stopped and stared, and took her drink of horror.

She glimpsed swollen bellies. Crusted blood around noses, ears, eyes. Limbs frail and broken, thin as skeletons. Black spots and cysts and pale skin, discolored by sickness and malnutrition.

"Come away, Katara," Yugoda beckoned her, pulling on her arm, ripping Katara from her shock like the sound of screaming arrows. Katara spun, tore away from her, looked wildly at the woman like she'd just seen her for the first time.

"Who are they?" Katara said, horrified, eyes wide beneath the niqab. "Why are they like that?"

Yugoda tried to take her hand, but Katara would not allow it. She stepped towards the entranceway, the broken iced gate hung like the mouth of Hell. A clicking sound met her; high up on the walls surrounding the gate, soldiers loaded crossbows. Kimba leapt forward to grab her arm before she could reach the dead leper sprawled nearest to the gate, and pulled her roughly back.

"That is the entrance to the Black Lane, Katara," Kimba whispered, keeping her hand firm on the waterbender's arm. "We... we do not go down there. Only the healers and the Doves venture there."

"Who?" Katara was numb with shock. Yugoda took the opportunity to start leading her away,

"The Doves are servants of the Moon Spirit," Yugoda said softly, still trying to lead Katara away. "They ask Yue for protection, and then venture forth to bring food and water to these people. Only the bravest healers venture in to cure any... and they are admired, Katara, greatly. But in the end, only one or two may escape the Black Lane... and every healer and Dove to go has not returned. Some things cannot be cured."

Katara tried to get her arm out of Yugoda's and Kimba's grip. They would not budge, and she grew wroth.

"Let go! I'm going to help them."

"Help who? The sick people?" Toph asked wildly.

"You cannot help them," Yugoda said firmly.

"Let _go_!" Katara cried.

"There is nothing to do, child!" Yugoda snapped, and it was the first time any vehemence had registered in the woman's voice. "The hearts of Arnook and of the Tribe weep in knowing these people suffer; but no Savior is given to us, child! We cannot help these people! We have no pride in ourselves, but neither do we have choice! We send all we can. We send who we can. We do all that is in our power to do - but there is no curing some illness, child. And if you ventured down there as so many healers do, you will find yourself struck with same thing!"

"Everything should be risked for the suffering!" Katara roared, eyes afire.

"You are a fool if you think such things!" Yugoda yelled.

"Rather a fool than a coward!"

Yugoda's old, worn hand was strong for her age. She slapped Katara so hard that the waterbender half-collapsed into Kimba, who was yelling protests to the old woman. Toph, blind even as she was, heard the slap and roared, leaping in the direction she guessed the old woman to be; but even as the earthbender's arm swung, wildly, at the woman, Yugoda had sliced her arms up through the air and encased Toph's legs in a layer of ice. Toph roared, stumbled half-over, and barely began her cursing.

"Bitch! Don't - hit -"

"Silence your tongue, earthbender! As for you - you will not insult the memories of the dead with this talk," Yugoda spat, bony finger shaking at Katara. "All healers have entered the Black Lane knowing full well that they will not return. Many did so without saving a single life. And you will not insult their memory, nor the actions of this Tribe, by thinking you alone can walk through that gate and save them."

"A greater stand must be made," Katara snarled, but then Kimba spoke with a vicious bite.

"Katara... shut up."

Katara looked at Kimba wildly and shoved her away.

"You're afraid!" she declared, Yugoda's eyes cold but quiet. "You're all just afraid!"

"When you enter the Black Lane, you cannot leave, Katara," Yugoda said evenly, her eyes like the rough sea. "And you will die there. That is all there is in that place."

"You can change it!"

"Change what, Katara?" Yugoda screamed, and suddenly the old woman was before her, screaming, wrathful. "Healers have been going to the lane for fifty years! There are no people in that place; there are walking corpses! Will you be so strong as you are now when you enter to heal, and find your power useless? I have seen healers return to this gate and try to slip back amidst the city. Look upon the walls; there are slits in the windows for crossbows. No one can leave, for the moment you step amongst them you are infected. You are doomed the moment you lay a hand upon them."

"It is not beyond our power to heal them," Katara persisted.

"It is well beyond our power. And unlike you, the healers who entered knew it. The Doves who entered knew it. They would succumb to the madness that takes the Black Lane; they would go blind and deaf, and crawl across the ice as helpless as newborns. They knew they would have the death-visions, visions of hellfire and torture. They would feel the needles in their skin, a scorching heat while their true body goes numb with cold. For awhile they would look as lepers; their skin would grow rough, would deteriorate. Their bones would weaken and snap. And they knew - as you do not know, and can never know - the agony that would follow them for days, for weeks, for years. As the bloody lumps grew upon their skin, and their insides churned against them, and blood finally came from every corner of their being - eyes, nose, ears, vomited from their mouths. In that state they knew they were doomed to die, in relentless agony, in waste. It cannot be cured. _You cannot cure it_."

Toph's hand was in Katara's. There were tears in the waterbender's eyes, as she gazed angrily between Yugoda and the Black lane.

"Let it go, Katara," Kimba said.

"How can you let it go?" Katara whispered, still vehement.

Kimba shook. She didn't look at Katara.

"...You speak like my mother did. And I had to let her go."

Yugoda finally managed to lead Katara away.

Kimba didn't look at the waterbender for the next few days. And Katara felt a hole widening in her heart.

Glassy eyes and people huddling together in filth for warmth. Crusted blood and swollen stomachs.

She wished Zuko was there to hold her.


	9. Weakness

Smellerbee awoke one morning to find she could finally think clearly. Her wounds were healed and her leg had set; reality was reachable again. No longer under the haze of Ty Lee's medicinal jabs, she sat up and rubbed her head, looking down at her splinted leg. She still could not move it.

The room was dim, and the walls were cold iron. A fan was blowing somewhere, but it was hardly enough to keep the intense warmth of the room at bay. Besides this Smellerbee could see little, and perhaps the room itself was so barren there was nothing to see. Yet, even as she examined her quarters, a door was opened to her left; the light that flooded in was blinding, and Smellerbee was forced to shut her eyes. A woman came in her room, her face the picture of sunshine, her tattered clothing all a faded hue of pink. Obviously at some point or another she had been a dancer or performer; she moved about the room with such effortless grace it was entrancing.

"...Ty Lee?" Smellerbee tried, wiping her face. She was disappointed to find the paint had been washed off. The girl whirled, beaming, clapping her hands together in a gleeful way that made the more savage girl cringe.

"Smellerbee! This is great! You're finally awake! Now we can get you into some clothes, and give you some of that _juk_ Haru made, and take you around the Boiling Rock -"

"Clothes?!" Smellerbee cried, before realizing she was completely naked under the sheets. Terrified and appalled, she pulled up the blankets around her defensively. "What the fuckin' hell? What the fuck did you do with my shit?!"

"Oh, watch that language!" Ty Lee said sternly, but still good-humoredly. "You had an infection, and a fever running for a few days. It's standard, stop belly-aching! I did all the work, its not like any men saw you in your skin."

The way she giggled, though, did not make Smellerbee feel that much better. What did make her feel better was Ty Lee approaching her with a washed, clean set of her clothing, although the intensity of her smile was till unnerving. With her leg in a splint and her body still relatively sore and stiff from lack of use, she consented (though not very willingly) to allow Ty Lee to aid in her. Her undergarments Ty Lee helped her with very quickly, and thankfully, for Smellerbee already felt extremely awkward in this situation. She tried to lighten it by turning the attention somewhere else.

"Where's Longshot? He's never around when I'm awake, is he? Damn all..."

Ty Lee paused as she helped Smellerbee put on her shirt. Something in the way her hands shook as they left the savage girl's shoulder made a horrible, nauseous feeling creep into Smellerbee's stomach. There was a long hesitation, in which Smellerbee waited, waited and wondered and dreaded.

"He... went out," Ty Lee managed at last.

"Went out?" Smellerbee said, annoyed and trying very hard not to let the fear grip her. "Went out where? When?"

The girl spun on Ty Lee, but the humor and sparkle in her eyes had vanished. The girl in pink looked at Smellerbee with her mouth open, as though the act would force words from her lips; but no words came, and for a moment the girls stared at each other. Smellerbee felt her heart beat fast in her chest.

"Where the _fuck_ is Longshot, ditz?"

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The docks of _Nar'yan-Mar_ were flocked with terrified people. It was one of the only remaining docks in the Union that had not fallen under Azula's control, and it was too far from the realms of the Chosen King to merit much attention from the Dai Li. The town was frail and small; houses were temporary and built hastily, to house momentary traders as they sold their goods over the course of a week or so. Fires were constantly burning, fed by the luscious white-topped forests that surrounded the harbor-town; buffalo-deer pulled great ploughs through the drifts of snow, ever-falling upon the town, to clear the way for traders and visitors. Snow coated the ships and ice clung to the shore; too close was _Nar'yan-Mar_ to the arctic circle, to the undersea currents that led toward the top of the world.

It was for this reason, though, that people came. merchant vessels from the Aurora Tribe, who docked in this harbor every year to sell their fish and furs, found themselves bombarded with requests of escape from injured and scared refugees. The Aurora Tribe seemed like the safest haven beneath the ripped, war-ridden Union and the dark rumor of the East, and families besought every trader they could find to take them on the return journey.

Some merchants had soft hearts; they paid for extra food from their own pockets and took on as many passengers as could handle, primarily women and children. Many more merchants took who could afford to pay a fare - two gold pieces seemed the standard, and the passengers were required to bring their own food and water.

One such merchant was a man named Gashuin, who sold red bottom-fish. He had picked out a family of three with a young babe, two young sisters, three cloaked travelers, and an old woman to come aboard his modest vessel. He herded them on as the sky grew dark, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before the fires of war spread even to here, on the shores of the arctic.

One of the travelers did not speak to Gashuin before he boarded the ship. He was a silent, brooding, flaming-eyed man that Gashuin found himself afraid to confront. He carried twin tiger-hook swords, and nothing else. Gashuin disliked the stranger, but was too good-hearted to turn him away. In an effort, though, to avoid anymore passengers attempting to board the ship, he loosed his vessel from the dock as soon as all were boarded and turned towards the north. It was a relief for him to do so.

But as Gashuin's ship set off, another ship was leaving too. It had already taken aboard nearly all the passengers it could handle, and would be following Gashuin's ship back towards the Aurora Tribe.

The bell was sounded, and the second ship shoved off after Gashuin. But before the plank could be lifted, another figure slipped in quietly amidst the crowd.

His face was drawn, and his eyes were dark.

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Jee's scouts were well spread by the time Zuko left Al-Sahir in triumph. They had ridden with fire at their heels, borne his banner of flame in warning to all Acchain Lords. A Conqueror had come.

Some Lords laughed, and said it was a young brush-boy with a foolish, arrogant dream, probably the son of some rogue lower-General (lower Generals typically were of a poorer sort than those like Jeong-Jeong and Bato; although there were no real ranks of honor among Generals, these kind did not command the same doubtless respect. Many of them had attained their positions through deceit and theft, and though such things were not uncommon in Acchai, it was frowned upon among the General ranks. Generals should command respect through fear and strength, and little else). Zuko's defeat of Jee and Qin were not regarded as much to the higher Lords in Acchai - such Lords and properties were far on the edges of the war-land, too close to the Desert and the mountains to be considered safe from sandbenders, from the Thieves of Gihad. No real gain was ever seen in acquiring such land, so the rumor of some usurper from those parts of the world was like taking lions from chicken eggs. No one much regarded the banner of flame when it was brought before them, and very few even deemed the new Lord would last long enough to reach the edges of their lands.

Yet, Zuko's message of the Avatar's return had an unsettling affect on many Lords. The legend of the powerful being had long been whispered in the corners of Acchai, sine 500 years before and the forgotten downfall of the Fire Nation. Little heed, however, was given it, as not a sign or wonder had ever appeared to inspire hope. But now the Lord Zuko rode across the barbarian land proclaiming to know the Avatar's identity and support his return - a bold and dangerous move, and one even the most confident Lords knew Zuko would not make without reason to support him.

So while these Acchain Lords attempted to disregard the young Lord, they found they could not. Rumor of the Avatar made the people stir and the servants whisper; it made the soldiers hesitant at the thought of doing battle with the firebender. In a short time all the Lords of Acchai would seek to slaughter this Heir of Agni, simply to keep substantial control over their people.

Jeong-Jeong and Hakoda both knew this. It was what irritated the General to a point beyond wrath, angry at Zuko's apparent mercy. The firebender would have a worlds and armies of savages - skilled, merciless, and blood-hungry savages - upon his head soon enough. He would need to prove the capability to be swift and unhesitant, bloody as any barbarian Lord. Otherwise his carcass would lie upon the sand before a week.

Hakoda, however, had respect for Zuko's mercy. It reminded him of the Chiefs of the Aurora Tribe, of the faithful men and women who went to their deaths in the Black Lane. It reminded him of his dead lover, the woman he should have made his bride. And in a prideful way, it reminded him of himself.

"Try the pipe again, Zuko," Hakoda offered, raising the weed to him again. It was near sunset, and Zuko's army - for he was proud enough, now, to call his force of men an army - had stopped for the night beneath the shadow of the hills, on the edge of the _Hamun-Jat _river. Zuko laughed and waved the offer away, concerned instead with his bowl of okra stew. A pot of it was hanging, simmering over the fire that Zuko - along with several Generals, Sen Su, and Lee - had gathered by.

"Give it to Sen Su, Hakoda, he'll like it," he offered, laughing to himself. Sen Su perked up from across the fire and looked quizzically between the two men.

"Like what, Lord?"

Hakoda handed him the pipe, whereby Sen Su effectively inhaled, coughed, spluttered, choked, and handed it hastily back to the Wolf Clan Chief. Lee protested heartily when his brother refused to let him try.

"Why not! Come on Sen Su, you did - that's not fair -"

The other men around the fire chuckled at this, and suggested Hakoda let the boy try - a request the Chief flatly refused. Even Jeong-Jeong had less of a stone-chiseled face than usual, but this was not apparently due to the mirth of the fire-side.

"You did well at Al-Sahir, Zuko," The General spoke suddenly, catching the firebender off guard. Jeong-Jeong's eyes were relaxed, but still intent and iron-like in the firelight.

"...Thank you, General," Zuko said hesitantly. He knew there was something else coming. The General took a swig from a drink of his own soup.

"I half-expected you to leave the coward alive," he said, after wiping his lip. Zuko's insides grew hot.

"I am not so much of a fool, you know," he declared.

"One can hope," Jeong-Jeong consented. Zuko tiredly decided that was the closest thing he was getting to a compliment from the General.

Suddenly Myobu sprang up, overturning the pot and sending hot soup across the barren ground. The steaming liquid was swallowed in a moment by the starved earth, but amidst the curses and cries of the hungry and upset men, Zuko remained still. Myobu's black-tipped ears were forwards, eyes aflame and terrifying, every hair upon his stiff and alert and wary. His lip had curled back just enough to show the edge of one glittering, blinding white tooth.

"What is it, Myobu?" and for a moment the cursing stopped around the circle. Even Jeong-Jeong turned to look at the frozen Spirit-fox.

_There are shadows on the hills_.

Zuko stood slowly from beside Hakoda, placing his bowl and spoon upon the ground. With his other hand he reached slowly towards his sword-hilt.

It took a moment. Zuko's sword flashed out in the low light, and Sen Su was on his feet, arrow to the string; Jeong-Jeong had roared and drawn his bladed club, white fire rushing from his mouth. Hakoda calmly drew his own spear, and Myobu bristled and began to snarl, flaming eyes drenched suddenly to deathly black, limp forgotten, demonic in the wrath of his being.

"To arms! _Aja_, to arms! To me!" Zuko's voice didn't seem loud enough against the growing tumult from the east.

A wave of men on horseback was pouring over the high hill, thundering down the hard earth like the striking spear of a war-god. In a blind stampede they crossed the shallows of the river _Hamun-Jat_, sending up showers of frothy white, glittering in the sunset. Their armor was crested with the pictures of a raven, having a chain around its neck; the symbol was that of Lord Mongke, a giant, ape-like man who's estate was further to the west. Zuko had been leading his army in that direction on the advice of Hakoda, who knew the powerful Lord Mongke to be the nest weakest Estate in Acchai.

Zuko's men could assembly quickly, but not quickly enough. They had not been involved in warfare for some time at Qin's estate, and there had not been time yet for Jeong-Jeong and Bato to condition them again. Sloppily their armor was thrown on; arrows were fired into the approaching army before Sen Su or Zuko gave any signal. It took five wasted minutes to group them into formation, the benders still scattered throughout the fray. Zuko worked with what he could, as the first volley of arrows from Mongke's army sang through the air.

Zuko cried out and order and earthbenders ripped up stone walls; men with shields fell beneath them, while men without threw themselves behind coaches and camels. Three only fell with arrows in their throats; many more were wounded in various places before they found cover. Without the earthbenders scattered about the perimeter of the army, as was Zuko's original intent for defense, the men divided into three sections. Jeong-Jeong managed to remain with one, and Zuko with another; but the third was left leaderless and formless, as Mongke's army parted expertly to attack all three sections at once.

Sen Su led the first wave of archers in return fire within Zuko's unit. Four men fell, one to the young soldier's expert aim. Hakoda lobbed his spear and took out a Captain; then the identical gusts of fire sprang from Mongke's men, dancing in curling spears and tongues of flame towards Zuko and his men. Zuko threw down his swords and gave his whole concentration into deflecting the great rivers of fire - another firebender or two aided him and the flame sped up and around their forms, attempting to channel it away from the main contingents of men. Zuko's efforts were fairly successful in this, even so far as deflecting the flame back upon the advancing army. The other firebenders were less skilled and could only redirect some flame, leaving the majority of it to crash into whole groups of defenseless men.

Wrath poured through Zuko when he discovered this lack of skill and discipline in the firebenders around him. Angrily he ordered them to redirect the fire towards the east, where no men stood in harm. The army, however, was close enough now to have drawn sword and spear, their faces masks of triumph and bloodlust, their approach unstoppable.

He drew his swords, sharp and gleaming, but Zuko knew the outlook was grim. Even separated into three factions, Mongke's army outnumbered his men - vastly, impossibly outnumbered them. He gritted his teeth, prepared himself for the worst and tried to plan a route of escape, even though he knew there was none.

Zuko was aware, suddenly, that his life was about to end. He marveled at the abruptness of it, how minutes ago he had been gathered at the campfire, laughing.

He realized why death was not so foreign in Acchai.

Wildness entered him, a fresh and fighting wildness that he had not had the strength for when death faced him on the Rope Walk. He faced death now with savagery, and desperation, and the will to fight.

And then the Spirit-fox was yelling beside him.

_To the north! Look to the north!_

Another massive shadow was pouring down the northern hills. Zuko sacrificed a moment to look the way Myobu had called; his heart failed him when he saw the second army, with new banner and new emblems, crashing down from the north. Their armor was black leather and black cloaks flowed behind them; their eyes were cruel and cold, like the eyes of the undead. They reminded Zuko of the Shifters in the Desert and his wildness and strength was stolen from him, outnumbered, outmatched.

But he despaired only for moment, until he realized the second army was not approaching his own. They were galloping straight towards Mongke's forces at high speeds, and Mongke's men seemed distracted and unsettled by it. One General raised a cry of alarm, which another General attempted to shout down; confusion entered the army, and all too late, for the wave had fallen upon them. The black horsemen drove straight into the side of the Lord Mongke's army, scattering their formation and driving them sideways back to the river; one General (the same who had given the cry of alarm) let up a great cry in a language Zuko didn't know; Mongke's men turned in one accord, kicking up dust behind them as they went, and fled headlong from the driving charges of the black-cloaked army.

For a moment dread returned to Zuko, that this new force would now turn its attentions on his own soldiers, and he prepared another rallying cry, gesturing for Jeong-Jeong. The black army, however, did not pursue Mongke's army nor turn upon Zuko's. As though they had accomplished there goal, they stampeding men slowed to a trot, and then stopped at the edge of the river. They did not seem to regard Zuko's army at all.

As the separated soldiers returned to Zuko's unit, Zuko watched the black army. A small party was moving from within it in the direction of Zuko's scattered forces; the firebender watched this small contingent intently as it left the fold of the army and crossed the dry earth, holding up branches of peace.

Anticipating the arrival of a General, Zuko went quickly to mount Randhir, calling Sen Su and Jeong-Jeong to him.

The contingent came slowly, and as they approached a mounting tension grew within the army. Enemy or friend, this black army had interrupted a conflict between two forces - and even if it was for the aid of Zuko, it was still uncalled upon, still disrespectful. Even Zuko knew this, and he watched the approaching General with concentrated fury.

But no General approached. The figure leading the contingent stopped several feet from Zuko, surrounded by her body-guards.

Zuko was growing accustomed to seeing women with the niqab now - but he was not accustomed to seeing women here, in the field of battle, amidst the gore and bloodshed of Acchai. When the women rode up towards him on her painted horse, silver-embroidered black sari and niqab dancing wildly in the eastern wind, he felt himself freeze.

She was old, he knew at once. Not terribly old, not enough for gray hair and canes - but she was beyond youth, and it showed in the deep lines etched around her steely grey eyes. Her eyebrows were high, thin and piercing, and in a distant way she reminded him of a very bony crow. She herself was not so thin, but not so large; her shape suggested a loss of young feminine firmness, leaving in its place a more unattractive, loose shape. It was natural for her age, to lose the figure of her youth, but her overall frame suggested a level of comfort and leisure in her life that had allowed her to neglect her form. She compensated with overdone eye-paints and long eyelashes, and many rings on her thin fingers. She did not introduce herself

"I received this a few days ago from a scout of Jee's Estate..."

The long roll of blood-red clothe, with the Agni insignia of bright flame imprinted upon it, unfurled from her palm. It floated gently in an eastern wind, curling around her black-clothed wrist.

"...and it surprised me," even though the crooked light in her eyes revealed more of a twisted pleasure in it. "Lord Zuko, of Agni? I have heard nothing of you, until this moment. And to bring news of the Avatar with your cause..."

"All that was said was true," Zuko stated flatly, glaring fixedly at the woman mounted high above him. "And I see you know me already."

"You must be dying to know who I am, then," said the woman in a vague, flirtatious manner. It made Zuko's skin crawl so badly he felt like a hundred cockroaches had just nestled underneath his skin.

"I want to know why you interfered. It was not your business."

"You looked as though you could use assistance, Lord Zuko."

"Your help was not needed."

"Ha!" the niqab puffed out a bit as she let out her teeth-grinding laugh, and Zuko was vaguely aware of a wounded Sen Su walking up beside him, arm wrapped in bloody clothe. He had been struck from one of the first volleys of arrows, and was in an all-sour mood. "You should be more grateful, Lord Zuko. When I heard the Lord Mongke had sent forth an army to destroy you, I could have ignored this news and remained on my satin couch, eating pomengranates. How fortunate for you that I decided otherwise."

"Again, you assume I had need of your aid," Zuko persisted, and a grin lit up her eyes.

"...You are young, Zuko," and there was a twisted way in which she observed his youth, his conditioned frame, the savage, furious, unquenchable fire in his eyes. "Yes... young and bold and fierce. Never has a Lord attempted conquest of all of Acchai, and yet... you are new to the war-land, aren't you? You have the feeling of a Union man about you."

Zuko's felt his insides grow hot. In his months in Acchai he had steadily grown less and less apart from the world he knew as a student at the Academy, as a rogue in the streets of _Balda Haram. _He hardly thought of or considered things of the Union anymore - Mai was a distant and disappointing memory, his family long lost, Jet and Longshot and Smellerbee forgotten. Real to him now was the sweat and blood of the war-land, the dry dust in his lungs. His friends were the glare of Jeong-Jeong and the smile of Hakoda; Sen Su's steady loyalty and Myobu's silent gaze. Real to him now was the blue necklace wrapped around his wrist, the sweet and salty taste of warm, soft, perfect crimson lips. An unveiled face beneath a thousand falling stars.

"Through blood and pain, Acchai has made me," Zuko found himself whispering in response. And then suddenly he found himself comparing this woman to Mai - arrogant, self-loving, snake-like. The resemblance was haunting, eerie, uncanny.

"It is strange. You are strange. The mystery of you intrigues me," and the snarling smile came into her eyes again, and Zuko's blood ran cold. She reared up her reins as his own hands tightened on Randhir's; turning her steed northward, she allowed one more sly look to glance over the firebender.

"My name is Lady Kwan, as you must have desire to know. My husband, the Lord Bonai, owns an Estate to the north, just past the river _Sakarya Nehri_. I would much appreciate if you would visit us there... perhaps not in conquest, but in friendship -"

"The Lord Zuko has no friendship with snakes," Sen Su spat, before Zuko could attempt a response. Instinctively, as Jeong-Jeong had taught him - and though he knew Sen Su to be correct - he hissed aside to the soldier:

"I did not permit you to speak. Keep your tongue behind your teeth."

Sen Su looked surprised, only for a second. Then he whispered a "Yes, Lord" and slunk back to glaring at the Lady Kwan.

"Interesting," Kwan looked haughtily, studiously from soldier to Lord. "I find it imperative to tell you then, Lord Zuko, that your army seems headed towards the Lord Mongke's estate. I hope you hide more men beyond those hills. I'd believe the group of soldiers whom attacked you were but a third of his force."

She spurred her horse then, without a goodbye or a send-off, leaving him obviously humiliated in the fell over the army; only the distant cry of Kwan's men, coupled with a neigh or two of the horses, struck the air. Zuko felt his embarrassment as intensely as the beating of the Rope Walk, as the grip of death that had handled him in the depths of the library with Wan Shi Tong. He remained still and poised upon Randhir for a long moment, watching the retreating army until they disappeared over the hills, into the red rays of the sunset.

"Lord?" Sen Su asked, hesitantly. The friend he had laughed with around the campfire, the kindred spirit he had connected with in the courtyard of Qin's estate, had shifted suddenly into a very quiet and infuriated Lord. It reminded him vaguely of Jeong-Jeong - though he dare not say it, for fear of offending the General.

"Sen Su, get Jeong-Jeong and Hakoda to meet me by the river. I must speak with them alone. Mybou, with me."

_Very well._

Zuko galloped off with Myobu at his heels, and Sen Su did his duty. Yet, as Myobu had once warned the firebender, a doubt was growing in Sen Su's delicate heart; placed there by lack of discipline, of respect, a little doubt grew.

Jeong-Jeong arrived before Hakoda on his tiger-stallion, but thankfully did not speak, waiting patiently til the Chief arrived. Zuko was bent over the shallows of the river. There were hoof-prints in the mud of the river-bed, eerie reminders of the brief but unsettling battle that had taken place moments before. The swiftness of which the battle began and ended had still phased Zuko somewhat; he could not quite believe, even now, that it had been more than a dream. He was beginning to understand - as he understood in Jee's court, and Qin's court, and in the merciless eyes of Lord Fong - that this _was_ the war-land. This was the reason the soft nobles in the Union feared tell tales of the barbarians, because even they knew, on some deep level, the nearness of death in Acchai. One step over the wrong hill and the light would be gone from your eyes.

And here Zuko had sent a banner of flame throughout the war-land, challenging every mad, ruthless Lord. Stirring their wrath. Death would be at his heels from now on, a constant and terrifying friend. Myobu could already see the shadow of it hanging above the firebender's head.

"Zuko?" Hakoda had arrived, dismounted his ostrich-horse, and began the conversation hesitantly. He knew the young Lord was infuriated and embarrassed. Jeong-Jeong kept silent, and watchful, beside Myobu.

Slowly, gently, Zuko cupped the river water in his hands and closed his eyes. He splashed the cool, sweet liquid across his face, a momentary relief from the stifling heat of the war-land. He imagined the water dripping down his cheeks were her fingers sliding on his skin. He looked down into the river, and imagined her sparkling blue eyes in the stirring, glittering surface of the water.

"Zuko, you should make back to your men. Re-group them. If we attack Lord Mongke's estate in the night -"

"The _Lord Mongke_?" Zuko roared it, whirling, flame spitting between his teeth, form of living fury in the sunset. Hakoda froze, stern and staring in the face of the firebender's wrath, as Zuko approached him in accusation. "Attack him? Did you not see the strength we just faced? You told me he was weak enough to take!"

"He is the next weakest in Acchai!" Hakoda persisted. "You must remember that Jee and Qin had small estates - Mongke's is of average size to an Acchain Lord. I had faith that you, as the chosen Conqueror, would believe and see -"

"You had _faith_?" Zuko spat at the Cheif. "You would hang the lives of all these men on _faith_? Faith in what? That somehow ten thousand more men would come to my aid at the gates of Mongke's estate? How do you expect me to conquer Acchai when you do not even aid me in the knowledge of my enemies?"

The Wolf Clan Chief glared intensely at the firebender, but Zuko was resolved and unbreakable. Jeong-Jeong sat down beside Myobu as the two men stared fixedly at one another, seeking dominance; a brief flitter of amusement had crossed the stone surface of the General's face.

"I had faith, because it is your destiny," Hakoda said coldly.

"A poor excuse for suicide," Jeong-Jeong added, and Hakoda frowned angrily at the General.

Zuko said nothing; only turned back towards the river, brief flames glittering between his fingertips. He was beginning to desperately despise whatever self-righteous, son-of-a-bitch god had decided "destiny" was such a damn good idea.

Hakoda allowed silence to fall for a moment. Jeong-Jeong did not speak again, and the Chief took this as a cue to once again take up the mantle.

"We can only do what we must, now, and have faith that the spirits will guide us. We can take Mongke's Estate by night -"

"Take it by night?" Zuko snarled to himself. He had never felt so humiliated and inadequate as he did in that moment; even as living shit in _Balda Haram_, he thought more of himself, paired beside a grinning Jet and his misfit companions. Here, his failure was evident, inescapable, inexcusable, and he had no choice but to acknowledge it. Again he faced the Aurora Chief.

"The Lord Mongke just attacked our caravan with a third of his forces and nearly slaughtered us all. If that disgusting woman hadn't shown up - none of us would have a destiny anymore, except to _feed jackals_. Take it by night? You're not speaking on faith anymore. You're speaking like a fool."

The General Jeong-Jeong let out a halted, snorting noise that could have easily be considered a laugh. Hakoda's fists clenched, and he stepped forward towards the firebender. Hakoda himself was only a few inches taller than Zuko, but he towered over the heir of Agni in a seething, subdued rage.

"I offered my service to you. I offered to guide you. You will not disrespect me."

Zuko was not intimidated. Not even for a moment. He was beginning to realize he could not afford to be intimidated anymore.

"We need more men. That you cannot deny."

And slowly Hakoda's rage faded, and he stepped back from the firebender.

"Now you think more clearly," something akin to approval had flittered across Jeong-Jeong's face, but it was not apparent in the steel bite of his voice. "Strength is needed to overthrow Lords. Loyalty of men.... Not a high sense of destiny or fate."

There was bite in his last words. Hakoda cast him an icy, defiant look; the General remained as ferocious, as calm, as terrible as ever. But none of them volunteered a suggestion; none of them knew of an answer to the issue. Three great men - a General, a Chief, and a Lord - gathered by the side of a still river, with no hint of an idea as to the fate of the war-land they stood in. No knowledge of how they would accomplish what destiny had set before them.

"...We need more men," Zuko repeated softly to himself, wondering at the odd impossibility of it. Useless, because he knew that none of them knew where they would find more strength in numbers.

_Zuko._

It was the first time Myobu had said Zuko's name (but then again, the Spirit-Fox never moved his mouth, so was it really speaking?) and it had a unsettling affect on the firebender. He shuddered and turned towards the Spirit-fox, who stared at him with fiery amber eyes, reflective of the lights in the high Void.

_I know where you can go. But it will risk your life as dearly as any venture against Mongke._

"Will it strengthen us?" Zuko ignored the fleeting look of disdain on Hakoda's face. Jeong-Jeong remained silent, watchful; his eyes were still approving of Zuko, but suspicious now of the Spirit-Fox. Myobu was limping obviously now in one leg - but in Jeong-Jeong's steely gaze that did not excuse the spirit-being, especially from the fact he had not participated in the fray with Lord Mongke's men. Jeong-Jeong had no trust for Spirit-Foxes. He was still, as neither he nor Myobu had forgotten, a betrayer of the Fox's cry. It was only a matter of time until the Hunt began for him.

_Yes._

Mybou's flaming eyes were calm and collected, and he was so still against the driving wind it almost made Zuko's eyes hurt.

"You're sure?"

_Doubt and lies are no longer of my nature._

It was an extensive and eerie answer, but Zuko took it.

"Fine... fine," Hakoda muttered when he saw the acceptance on Zuko's face. "Where do we go then, Myobu?"

_He must go alone._

Myobu's eyes were still on Zuko, and they seemed to freeze his heart.

"He will _not_ go alone," Hakoda snarled, and even Jeong-Jeong stood in support of the Chief's demand. "One of us at least must go with him -"

_No. That is not the way._

"And what way is that?" Jeong-Jeong's voice was hard and death-dealing. "The way where you slaughter him in the wilds while Mongke's men slaughter us?"

A terrifying, growling snarl escaped Myobu, and Jeong-Jeong's fists instantly wrapped to white flame.

"General!" Zuko shouted, and both parties paused before the confrontation could begin. Zuko's kept his eyes glued on Jeong-Jeong.

"General... train the firebenders while I am gone. Have master earthbenders and waterbenders do the same. Hakoda will work with Generals to condition the soldiers, and Sen Su will discipline the archers. I want true soldiers when I return, not a rabble of brawling-men."

"No, Zuko! We do not even know who Myobu speaks of!" Hakoda shouted. Myobu's snarl subsided.

_When I was a Runner, certain men did worship to me. They are a bold and strong people. But they are also desperate. They may come to your cause, Chief Hakoda._

Myobu's use of Hakoda's name had the same affect on the Chief as it did on Zuko. He shuddered, momentarily weakened, and Zuko took the opportunity.

"Who are they, Myobu?" the firebender was already mounting Randhir, who neighed and tossed his head impatiently. Jeong-Jeong glared at the Spirit-fox, but he was not so concerned with Zuko's safety as Hakoda might have been, and did not put forth a protest. Myobu turned his head lazily towards the East, towards a distant heat, towards the rumor of a rising sun. Towards the Desert.

_They are called the Thieves of Gihad._

The army saw Zuko gallop from the river, with Myobu's flashing, flaming form sprinting several yards ahead. His black-panther cloak flowed behind him like a banner, and his eyes were of golden fire. A murmur rushed through the army; but no one spoke that Zuko was retreating, was fleeing. The fury and ambition in his eyes was too great for that.

They saw him like a man riding toward Death.

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Kudos for anyone who knows who Kwan is in the original show (she'll be back, by the way). And EXTRA kudos to anyone who knows what characters will be showing up in the next few installments!


	10. The Thieves of Gihad

Zuko knew nothing of the Thieves of Gihad. Had he been born into Acchai - into blood, sweat and fear, into stories of old monsters and fangs in the dark - he would not have been so bold in going.

The Thieves of Gihad were not a rabble of homeless and desperate, of criminals and banished, as were the vast majority of outlaws in Acchai. These thieves were of a mild and mostly controllable nature, as far as the Lords of Acchai were concerned. A gang of such men often appeared when a General was slain and his men left leaderless, or a foolish band of youth ran away from their Lords; they slew and stole and raped at whim, usually upon the far edges of the Acchain borders where not many stood to oppose them. This would occur for the span of about three months, until such a time as the borders were used up (or they grew too bold) and they encroached too far upon a Lord's land and holdings. In his younger years, Sokka had accompanied Jeong-Jeong twice on parties sent specifically to the efficient and ruthless slaughter of these men. There were usually no more than thirty (only very foolish men chose to join these gangs); they were ill-trained and quickly dispatched, their bodies left to rot on the rock and stone. Vultures feeding vultures.

The Thieves of Gihad were also not akin to the thieves of _Balda Haram_, who (though of fearful reputation in the Union) were composed of cheats, gamblers, drinkers, pimps, beggars, pickpockets, starving students, madmen, and other such characters accustomed to deceit and the stolen coin. Zuko had walked the edge of a knife in his days as a student at the Academy; it was a deliciously easy thing, to be ensnared by the whores and the cardgames and the quick coin a thief would flash you - but it was all a farse, and more often than not ended with a broke student getting his throat slashed over a ten-silver bet. Smellerbee herself had been born to a nameless whore, who gave her up by the time she turned three - babies in the brothel and bad business. Vica had rescued her from begging when she was eight, and gave her a room and a job in the bar. But Smellerbee had never quite lost her thieving nature, and aside from Jet her ghostly qualities and light fingers had earned her more than one enemy and admirer.

Yet when Zuko thought of thieves, these are the two things (though the latter more than the former) he pictured. Already, as he followed Myobu through the Pass of Jin and into the vast expanse of the Desert, he was contemplating the various ways he could bribe the thieves to his cause. He hoped they were in need of base things - food, money, water - and did not desire payments in other forms he was unwilling to give. Women; sacrifice; slaves.

The Desert was red beneath the sky. Myobu's form against its flaming surface was hardly distinguishable, and Zuko followed him by the occasional glimmer of his being and not by any actual form. After the first mile Zuko had been forced to bring Randhir to a canter, as the horse could not sustain a gallop across the broken ground of Acchai. Myobu slowed accordingly, but it still took all of Zuko's concentration to keep sight of the swift creature. Occasionally, the firebender felt pity for the stallion he rode and slowed to a walk or light trot; these moments endlessly vexed Myobu, who was in a great haste to reach the Thieves.

The first night they encamped in the shelter of a vast sand dune. Myobu was curled up and resting long before Zuko started a fire and pitched his tent; Randhir was sweating but not worn down - they had traveled nearly thirty miles, but the stallion had admirable endurance. In respect of the creature, Zuko gave the stallion a good walk and rub-down long before he considered making himself (and Myobu) any dinner. The Fox watched lazily in the half-light, illuminated only by Zuko's low-burning campfire, as the black horse gratefully took his rest. The Fox had not spoken since their departure from Zuko's army; now his voice came in low, so that Zuko could barely hear it.

_You are very foolish. To come so far alone._

The fire in Myobu's eyes was muted. He gazed dreamily at Zuko like a wolf half-asleep, reflections of embers on his blood-red coat. Zuko finished Randhir's rub-down and allowed the stallion to indulge himself in his feedbag, taking Myobu's compliment as a jest.

"I think you and Jeong-Jeong are beginning to admire my foolishness," he said with a smile. Reaching into his own saddle-bag, he withdrew a long strip of dried meat and held it up, in offering, to the Spirit-Fox. Myobu did not stir; his nose did not even twitch at the smell of the meat. Confused but unconcerned, Zuko took the meat himself and began to eat.

_The General's men say you Walked the Rope._

"...I did," Zuko felt and odd discomfort arising in the conversation, and he was beginning to lose his appetite. Myobu's eyes were still fixed, half-awake, on him. "You know that, though. You and the other Foxes saved me. Katara told..."

And then he could feel the necklace at his wrist, like a living thing, like a second heartbeat. He turned to look at it; deep, translucent blue, like the mystery of her eyes.

_You don't think of her so much anymore._

Zuko's head snapped up to glare at Myobu. The Fox was still the same, entirely impassive; it unnerved the firebender, not only because of his disturbing words, but because the Fox seemed to know, exactly, what Zuko thought at any given moment. He wanted to tell the Fox he was barking out his ass; he wanted to slap the lazy half-grin off the creature's face with a flaming fist. Instead, he found himself muttering, confessing:

"She is my thought every morning when I wake," and his fingers were playing with the cool, blue gem of her necklace. "And every night I imagine her with me, beside me... but Jeong-Jeong was right. I can't be thinking of her so much that I am distracted from reality. It would do more harm than good."

Myobu stared at him lazily, and yawned. White, bright fangs against a red mouth.

Zuko felt his heart beating fast. He felt like the Fox had suddenly swept the world from beneath his feet. Was Jeong-Jeong right? Zuko couldn't afford to be endlessly distracted by Katara (and the thought of her was just this), especially when the fate of Acchai, and of peace in the Union, hung upon his actions. Or was Jeong-Jeong wrong? Were Zuko's affections for the waterbender simply slipping away as he was drowned, deeper and deeper, in his destiny - in the harsh and alluring realms of barbaric Acchai? No - he couldn't believe it - because _she _was of Acchai, _she_ was of the fierce and noble mold he admired. She was always a moment away in his mind, close to him as the strip of fabric at his wrist. If not for the companionship of Sokka, Toph, and Aang, he would be in endless frustration as to her safety. He could _not _drive Katara from his mind. She had run her hands along his broken body and made him whole; she had unveiled herself, drawing back the niqab, to show him her affection. She was precious. She was the Blue Rose. She was his Blue Rose.

Yet the doubt lingered, a poison, a hateful thought. Would he forget Katara, as he had forgotten Mai?

Myobu laid his head across his paws, and closed his dark, flaming eyes.

_It will be much more difficult for you after this._

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Dawn found them already awake and traveling, Zuko's eyes red-lined from lack of sleep.

Myobu had adjusted his pace again to fairly match the cantering of Randhir; the Fox, still restless at the slowness of the stallion, was amusing himself by winding back and forth across the sand dunes. This annoyed Zuko, who had to keep careful track of the beast, but the firebender knew better than to raise a complaint.

The Spirit-Fox left no foot prints in the sand. He was loping at an easy pace, slipping further and further into a half-conscious state. His limp - so prevalent while in the caravan, running beside the sins of men - had decreased significantly. Returning to the Desert was sending a change over the spirit; with each step, life returned to him, emboldened by the scorching sands that had molded him, been home to him since his enslavement to Wan Shi Tong.

The heat was pouring down in waves across the sand. Zuko had grown accustomed to it over the months in Acchai, but he had not grown accustomed to the winds. While no severe storms had yet swept across the Desert, the wind was a constant, stirring up loose sand in spirals and waves, sending it stinging against Zuko's scar and skin.

Myobu did not heed the wind and heat. The impassive gleam was back in his eye. Zuko brushed sand from his eyes to keep sight of him, bobbing up and down between the dunes.

Then, abruptly, just as Myobu reappeared in his winding path over the top of a sand dune, the Fox bolted.

An arrow could not have left the string more swiftly. The glimmer of Myobu's coat was yards away in seconds; surprised, off-guard, and fearing the Fox had sensed some nearby danger, Zuko haltingly kicked Randhir in his sides. The stallion bucked and then took off at a full gallop, Zuko leaning forward and squinting to see the Spirit's glimmer through the sand-whipped wind.

"Myobu!" it was useless for Zuko to shout into that driving wind.

The Fox was gone, a glittering speck in the distance.

Desperate, shocked, and for all the world afraid of being stranded in the wasteland, Zuko gave Randhir another good kick and galloped off into the direction he guessed the Fox to be. The wind screamed around his ears like mad laughter; the wind worsened, full of sand and debris, and whipped mercilessly into the firebender's eyes. Half-blind, heart beating like a drum, Zuko spurred Randhir like a madman, galloped wildly, flounderingly across the sand.

Then, just as abruptly, Myobu stopped.

So intent on the distant dunes, and so afraid that Myobu had abandoned him in the red Desert, Zuko barely noticed the Spirit-Fox as he galloped by. If not for the brilliant, surreal gleam of the spirit's eyes he would have missed him altogether. As it was he noticed the creature, already several yards behind him, and pulled up Randhir to a fierce and abrupt stop.

The changes in pace was maddening to the stallion. Bucking, kicking, half-willing to turn wild, Randhir fumbled to a halting stop and then stumbled awkwardly backwards. Ignoring the stallion's confusion, Zuko whirled a fidgeting Randhir around towards the Fox again. He cantered back until Randhir stopped and hesitated a few feet from the Fox; there was a dim, uncertain look in the stallion's eyes.

"Myobu? What the hell - ?" the wind blew against Zuko's scar like a thousand needles, loose sand stinging wild against his skin; he ignored it, focused on Myobu's still form. The Fox was sitting squat on his hind legs, motionless as stone. The dreamy, inattentive look had come back into his eye.

Gritting his teeth impatiently, Zuko dismounted from Randhir, as the stallion lowered his head to shield his eyes from the wind. He approached the Fox, raising one arm to protect his own eyes, annoyed.

"Myobu! What are you doing?" he had to scream it over the wind.

There was something dangerous, something unnatural about the sleepy, impassive look in the Fox's eyes. Zuko noticed it too late.

A bristle went through Myobu. Every muslce tensed, every hair stood up.

Zuko felt himself go cold beneath the blazing sun.

Myobu bared his gleaming teeth and roared.

The world exploded. Sand erupted around Zuko in geysers, a hundred feet high, enough to cut off the ferocious light of the Desert sun. As Zuko looked up at the darkening sky his feet were swept out from beneath him and he sunk, sunk so quickly he could not bring fire to his hands, could not even send up a cry of anger, a cry for help -

- and then there was only terror, because he'd been swept straight down into the earth, sucked down faster than any quicksand. In seconds he was crushed, buried alive - there was sand everywhere, in his eyes, his nose, his mouth, pressing in around him on every side, heavy and crushing - he couldn't flail his arms, he couldn't kick, immobilized by his complete and swift burial. It was in his stomach, under his skin; there was no air in his lungs, only sand, sand, sand everywhere -

- and then, as fast as it happened, he was up again, and the sun was glaring at him ferociously.

"Myobu!" he coughed immediately. Blinked his painful, sand-filled eyes open as he hacked, coughed, vomited sand.

The first thing he saw, doubled over on the sand, was Randhir. The stallion was sprawled sideways on the ground, twitching, legs angled out awkwardly, its great, powerful neck slashed open. Wet, red blood was pooling onto the dry, red sand beside the black stallion.

The second thing he saw was a sandbender. He recognized him from his time with the caravan, and it made him sick. The man was swathed in yellow, dirt-colored rags, face hidden from the ferocity of the sun. He was rooting through Zuko's belongings, still strapped to Randhir's back; there a bloody knife at his hip.

Zuko was still out of breathe, still blinded from the sand, but he rose anyway. He inhaled despite the sand-crusted edges of his throat; he called a red flame to his hands, feeling the massive heat of Agni above him. He leapt for the sandbender.

"_Aya_!"

The earth moved beneath his feet, shifting sand; he went face-down, flailing, coughing. Laughter came from somewhere, cruel and cold. Zuko leapt towards the source of the noise, still half-blind, everything blurred and red with sand; he threw a fiery, half-aimed punch.

Someone caught his wrist. He threw a punch with the other hand, but this wrist was caught too. His still flaming fists were wrenched down towards the earth, and he felt the sand burning his skin.

There was laughter. Endless laughter.

Then a huge, iron-ended club soared down over Zuko, and landed solidly across his outstretched hands.

And Zuko screamed.

His hands shattered beneath the blow. Bloody, disjointed, broken, the pain seared up Zuko's arms. He flailed, he writhed; he turned over onto his back and cradled his bloody hands into his chest. His body shook violently, terribly, and Zuko screamed and screamed. The laughter went on around him. Zuko rolled over onto his stomach, clutching his broken hands in misery. His body shook, and in incoherent mutterings, in low spurts, he begged for release. He begged for Katara, and her healing water. He begged for mercy.

No mercy came. Only the fierce, red gleam in the corner of his eye. Only a traitorous Myobu.

Every hair was erect on Myobu's bristling frame, every muscle tensed, jaw clenched, white fangs dripping. But the Spirit-Fox's legs were rooted to the earth, immobile, body still as stone save for the vibration of his growling.

Zuko snarled, bared his own teeth like some rabid beast, spat fire onto the red sand.

"_Myobu! _You _fucker - !"_

The nearest sandbender silenced Zuko's cries of rage by throwing a solid blow across Zuko's jaw. So fierce and well-aimed was the strike, it sent him straight down, face half-crushed in the sand, blood pooling immediately into his mouth.

Still bristling, still immobile, Myobu made no move as the sandbenders chained Zuko's wrists, the firebender's eyes glistening from the pain in his hands, blood on his lips. They knew how to subdue benders of all sorts, these Thieves of Gihad; Zuko's fingers would be healed once he was secured and properly enslaved, but until then Zuko's hands were useless, and the firebender was helpless.

"_Endea Sahib. Bwana alifika, na Mzuka-Mbweha,_" one of the men said suddenly, gesturing at a smaller thief. The bandit nodded, turned, and took off on a sand-sailer.

They stripped Zuko of his great armor, the red-stained leather and steel that Hakoda had acquired for him, as well as the magnificent black panther-cloak. One sandbender, in full presence of Zuko, put the hollowed panther-head over his own and seemed to claim the cloak as his. Two thieves arose cries of complaints and stepped towards him, but the sandbender had drawn a jagged knife and was practically snarling at them. Another fight arose when they discovered his twin blades, but this squabble was also shut down when a huge, hulking man wrenched the weapons from their finder's grasp and claimed them. Two men were left to carve up Randhir for food; they took the leather saddle-bags and dried meat, the waterskins, the tent, the blankets and knives and other essentials Zuko had brought. They took his boots with his Uncle's dagger hidden within them, his belt, his shirt, and left him half-naked and barefoot. Zuko endured this all sitting upon the sand, his hands clasped together underneath his thighs - he did not want them to find Katara's jeweled necklace. Of all the things they stripped him of, this was the only thing he sought to keep.

By this time Myobu's growls had subsided. In turns, and in between dividing Zuko's possessions, they came before the Spirt-Fox and slowly descended into a full bow, knees tucked under them, foreheads all the way down to the sand. One of their number - a squat man, who had claimed Zuko's precious knife as his own - paid homage to the Fox, and afterwards came straight aways back to Zuko. The firebender was still half-knelt in the sand, concerned only with the searing pain of his shattered hands.

"_Uko n__ani_, _mgeni_?" The man's face was swathed with dirty, mud-colored cloth. Zuko raised his head to meet the shadows of his eyes, but did not answer him. The words were useless in his ears, another barbarian language. The thief looked briefly at his fellows and then, ecstatically and without warning, kicked him in his stomach with one iron-tipped boot. Zuko coughed, choked, and doubled over, finally revealing the blue gem necklace at his wrist.

The reaction was expected - the thief gave a laugh of discovery and grabbed roughly at the firebender's arm, scrabbling for the necklace. This time, however, Zuko was not compliant; enraged, he twisted around in the sand and kicked, with all the force he could muster, into the thief's body. One foot made contact with his stomach, the other with his groin. The man stumbled back in shock and pain, falling swiftly to the earth.

But there was no hope for Zuko. A man behind him simply clenched his broken fingers in his massive fist and Zuko was down, roaring, screaming, writhing. The necklace was torn unceremoniously from his wrist, and the thief took hold of his collar; twitching, convulsing with pain, the firebender was dragged to the nearest sand-sailor. A great, wooden cage was strapped upon it, filled with prisoners. With slaves.

He was thrown inside, imprisoned. Even as it happened, Zuko managed to catch the eye of the man who'd taken his necklace. They were black as death, black as sin, beneath the torn, dirty clothe upon his head.

He crept into the corner of the cell and stayed there, dwelling over the agony of his hands. Four others were crammed into the tiny cage; one of them was sprawled limply on the floor, apparently lifeless. He ignored them, despairing, brimming with hurt and hatred for the deceit of Myobu. The Fox had led him into a vicious trap, an impossible endeavor against the soulless, the satanic, the Thieves of Gihad.

"How dare you. So sad over your poor hands? You were far more miserable when I tortured you."

The voice was like nails on stone.

"_You._"

Hama's cruel, wrinkled smile returned like a knife in his back.

He reacted instantly. He could not firebend, so he kicked out wildly with his bare foot instead, aiming to wipe the evil smirk from her face. Yet the bloodbender was older, and wiser, and ready for him with a lazy wave of her hand she captured just enough of the blood in his leg to twist it off to one side. Enough to cause some pain, so that Zuko gasped and grew red from rage and embarrassment.

"Calm yourself, _mitra-Sahadev. _You and I are both trapped," Hama's voice was oddly even considering her appearance. She was dirty, and looked as though she'd been stripped as Zuko had, down to her grey underdress and niqab. A great, deep gash was etched across her forehead, and the blood from it had tangled and dried in her grey hair. Zuko hesitated, and pulled his leg back into his body, watching the terrible, withered creature. When Hama did not attempt anything, he settled himself against the far side of the cage, beside a fatter, black man who was half-clothed and unconscious. The witch's eyes followed him in some sort of perverted delight, as though her own shame at being enslaved was lessened by the presence of Zuko.

"What are you doing here?" he managed at last, returning to clutch his throbbing, broken hands into his chest.

He realized he hadn't seen the witch since his time with the caravan, ages and ages ago, back in that dimly-lit world where he still chased mindlessly after Mai, still found the thought of Sokka as Prince hilarious. Before he knew about Aang being the Avatar. Before he fell in love with Katara.

"Did you think I'd get to stay with those spoiled bitches in _Masabi_?" Hama snarled bitterly, her long fingers clenching around her chains. "No. The Golden Hawk of the Sunrise does not want old hags in his haram. I was returned to my tribe. All in the right time, too; the Thieves came but a night after my return."

Her smile was bitter now. Zuko saw it and felt sick in his stomach, although he could confess no sympathy for the bloodbender.

"At least you'll go back to what you're good at anyway," he finally said, tiredly. There was too much pain coursing up from his broken hands to attempt another spar with Hama. The witch scoffed at his words, and Zuko caught a look at her broken, yellow, fang-like teeth.

"You think I'll be ripping men's blood out? No. I am no use to them. _Sahib _has many young bloodbenders to fight for him. I will be made to do women's work - or they will put me in charge of Thief-daughters," she said the last part with considerable disdain.

"And what will they do with me?" Zuko hated that he said it so quickly, that he sounded so afraid. Hama's grin was sickening.

"They will make you a soldier-slave. You will join them on caravan raids; you will kill and help carry the goods away. I advise you not to take any for yourself - there is a bloodbender's punishment for that."

At that point the big, unconscious man beside Zuko awoke, startled and twitching; he looked wildly at Zuko, as though he had no idea who or where he was - then he fumbled into the opposite corner, panicked, and passed out again.

The sand-sailor took off then. It was an ironically smooth ride, as the sandbenders were well-trained in their ways; Zuko remained in his corner, watching the torrents of sand rivet by on either side, the red Desert a blur of heat beneath the blue sky. Hama, in her wicked, calculating way, was ever-watching him, as a hawk watches a mouse. Zuko despised feeling so weak and vulnerable beneath his gaze; every now and then, as if to remind her of his own power, he exhaled an angry fire from his nostrils. These displays were met with mocking laughter from the bloodbender.

They stopped once, and only once, to switch benders on the sailor. The journey was smooth and endless, and Zuko felt trapped in a loop of time from which he could not escape. Hama was so still, so concentrated, hardly daring to blink, that Zuko was fairly certain time had stopped altogether. Within the wooden cage full of slaves, he waited and waited.

He tried to think of what his purpose was, again - to conquer Acchai. The reminder of Jeong-Jeong's loyalty, of Hakoda's friendship, brought new strength back to him; and then he was reminded of Katara, and in blind pleasure he retreated back to the memory of kissing her upon the docks, of the deep caramel color of her skin, of her red lips. He forced himself to remain hopeful for her sake, for the sake of Sen Su and the soldiers in Acchai, the soldiers who watched him ride toward Death. He forced himself to keep to his task, emboldened by the strength of Katara memory, her love. It was not much strength, but it was enough to sustain him.

It was nearly sunset when the lead sandbender gave the cry to stop. Zuko waited motionlessly in his corner of the cage. Some of the slaves stirred, wondering if they could yet chance an escape; the still man on the floor of the cage remained still. Hama rose, but stayed risen in her own corner, hunched over and grinning a fanged grin, a delighted gargoyle.

"_Awa_," one of the sandbender wrenched open the solid wooden cage door, a fierce, curved sword in his right hand. Each of the prisoners was chained about the wrists as Zuko was, but as they were led from the cage a second chain was thrust through their bindings. A line of slaves, chained together, was the result, the leader being the huge, crazed black man Zuko had seen before. Four of the prisoners had their hands crushed as Zuko's, and like him they were more concerned with this immediate agony than anything the sandbenders wanted of them. Hama's hands were not chained, and Zuko had the idea she had given up mostly without a fight so as to avoid that pain. Most of the slaves had been chained and lined by the time they got to Zuko; the man on the floor was left there to rot.

When they came for him, Zuko growled and let flame slip between his teeth - but they boxed him over the head and chained him anyway, laughing and muttering in their own tongue.

An oasis stretched before Zuko; a huge, massive pool, half a mile long and still as glass, was glittering red in the fierce afternoon light. A spring from the depth of the Desert earth had produced the wealth of water, and it had been protected by the half-shadow of a tall, outrageous stone monument. The stones wound up near a mile high, and though most of it seemed raw rock, some of it looked unnatural; Zuko thought one portion resembled a decrepit pillar, another a faded carven wall - as though pieces from some other structure had been thrown against the stone to make it larger. All upon its grey, sunburned surface were the tiny, mud-colored tents of the Thieves, little fires burning alongside a few. In the night it would look a massive array of lights against a backdrop of black, a glittering Christmas tree in the midst of barbarity. The oasis itself was surrounded by great stalks of palm and fig trees, but little else; camels and horses and goat-mules all gathered round it edges to drink, and the Thief-children could be seen playing in the shallows. More mud-colored tents had been set at its edges, and these tents were crested with a white sword upon their fronts. They were the tents of the elite, and the largest and most dominating one - practically four times the size of any other, and poised in the coolest shadow of the stone - belonged to their leader. Zuko knew this, knew it as they led the slaves toward it, the sunlight fading quickly.

Directly facing the huge, shadowed tent, a wooden stage had been constructed for slave-sale. Zuko and his companions were led here, smacked or hit every time they sobbed or uttered a word. Zuko was beside Hama, both silent as stone, one always grimacing, the other smiling.

"What is happening?" Zuko finally humbled himself enough to ask Hama. The wicked hag curved her smile wider.

"We are being inspected by _Sahib_. He will decide if we are all fit enough to sell."

As she said it, the falp of the tent had been thrust back, and a singularly tall man (escorted by several guards) approached the slave-stage. The huge, crazed black man was muttering and twitching still, as though there was something deeply wrong with his mind.

All the thieves bowed at his approach. The man stopped before the stage and stood motionless, apparently bored, and waited for them to rise again. When they did he said something in his quick, barbarian tongue to the few men closest to him. They responded with praise and many bows; yet this revered man passed only a careless eye over the line of captured slaves, as though such dealings were beneath his notice. He gestured once, idly and impassively, towards the twitching, troubled man.

Zuko knew what it meant, athought he did not know how he knew. There was something wrong with the mind of the twitching man, and with one look the tall man had discerned it. A sandbender strode on stage, drew a knife from his pocket, and immediately slit his throat.

The black man fell down, still twitching, as life left. He was dragged off stage and Zuko, still forcing himself to watch the tall man, finally asked the bitter Hama -

"Who is he?"

Hama responded quietly. Zuko was unsure whether he heard fear in her voice.

"That is the Hundred Eyes. That is _Sahib Timur._"

Again, he noticed, the man was tall - very tall. Hakoda and Jeong-Jeong were towering men themselves, and Zuko was not lacking in height - but _Sahib Timur_ was a giant, a mountain, a presence so commanding that even Zuko found he'd held his breathe. His head was not covered, and his long, ebony hair was pulled back in a great ponytail. His skin was tanned to a chestnut brown from the ferocity of the Desert sun, and there were black, charcoal marks beneath each of his eyes. His clothing was not torn, though it was as evenly coated with sand as any other thief; it was more elegant, with symbols of spiraling dragons with many wings, a wellspring of gold beneath him. Knives were hanging from his belt alongside the bones of great beasts, and Zuko could see the hilt of a great blade peering over his right shoulder. The great symbol of a running Fox was tattooed on his barren right arm, and his eyes were dark and cold, like the shadow of a star.

"_Sahib. _Like _Sahadev?_" he asked in a daze. Hama grinned amusedly.

"More or less."

"Is he their leader?" he turned to her briefly, and she shrugged.

"He may as well be. Their true _Sheikh _is a doddering, white-haired fool, from what I know. Nonetheless, we are to be slaves of his, or of his kin."

Yet Zuko was shaking, ignoring his pain, emboldened with the knowledge he had found his target. He had not really failed, after all - despite his capture, despite the betrayal of Myobu.

"I need to speak with him."

Zuko raised himself to his feet and focused on the man's retreating form. Hama's eyes went wide above her wrinkles.

"No! Fool - !"

"_Sahib_!" Zuko roared, and the rest of the slaves in his line looked up at him, startled. The slave-owner muttered something angrily, took a chain in hand and stormed over to the firebender. "_Sahib Timur_!"

Zuko opened his mouth to shout again, but a blow came to his throat that cut off his breathe and sent him reeling back. The slave-owner's chain had been wrenched around his neck and fastened; he gagged and coughed as the tight bond was secured, and - panicked now, reeling at the feeling of the chain about his throat - he cried out out, amidst his coughs:

"My name is Lord Zuko! I came to offer you a great alliance!"

The man _Sahib _stalked back to his tent; if he had heard Zuko's loud proclamation, he showed no signs of it, did not even flinch at the firebender's cries. Zuko dug his knees against the wooden stage, face still stung by the blinding needles in the wind. His captors grasped him angrily by his shoulders, pulling him backwards into the red Desert.

"I possess an army in Acchai! We are conquering the war-lands - !"

And then the death-stroke came; for at that moment, emboldened by Zuko's shouts, several other captive slaves began to cry out:

"Yes! _Sahib_, there is a mistake - !"

"I am a great Master, _Sahib_ - !"

"I have been wronged - !"

"Mercy, show mercy, _Timur _of the Hundred Eyes -"

Zuko was drowned and defeated by the mocking, pleading shouts. His voice went unheard.

The man _Sahib_ threw back the flap of tent and disappeared inside. The wind rustled the fabric, but _Sahib Timur _was gone. Zuko's captors pulled him down, despite his kicking, his thrashing, his wild, half-choked exclamations of rage.

By the chain on his neck, they dragged him to the slave-stock.

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By the way, they're speaking Swahili :D If anyone reading this knows Swahili, and I'm doing it incorrectly, please tell me!


	11. The Reading

The tea steamed in the small, black teacup. Iroh brought it slowly to his lips, taking a long, deep sniff of the jasmine smell before he did so. Iroh's hair was frayed and out of place, his knuckles torn, his shirt singed. There was the air of recent battle upon him.

Zhao did not care for tea. He allowed it to steam before him without taking a sip, watching the older man as he drank. Like Iroh, the memory of battle hung upon him, clothing torn, still-bleeding cuts upon his arms. He seemed oblivious to them.

"I am guessing your son is the reason for this," Iroh said it sadly, suddenly. Anger flittered across Zhao's face.

"The boy is a headstrong, hot-headed fool. And this Azula will betray both him and me - she is exactly like her father."

Iroh flinched a little at his words, but no will was left in the old man of Agni to defend his brother. Not since that night in the unholy streets of _Balda Haram_; not since broken teeth in the street, not since blood running in the gutters. Not since the dark and empty eyes of a silenced Lu Ten.

"I remember what they used to say about Zhanu, Zhao. They said he was his father's son. An ideal young man."

It was suspicion in Iroh's voice. It was uncertainty in his eyes. But Zhao was full of fire and ambition, and he did not fall to the old man's tricks.

"I am not trying to convince you that I am like you, Iroh. I agree with Ozai, and the legends of the Fire Nation. But I will not have mine own son usurp me, and I will not see wretched Ozai, nor his whore daughter, on the throne of the Chosen King."

"You should watch your tongue, Zhao. It is my niece you speak of," the room itself seemed to spark. The two men stared each other in the eye for a long moment. Zhao finally pushed back his chair, here within the ruins of an inn Azula's troops had destroyed. SMoke was still rising from some places; piles of ash was stacked in corners, and dried blood was on the floor.

"I offer to aid you, but if you will not have me then I will go elsewhere. Or perhaps I will look upon the circumstances in a new light."

Iroh swallowed the hot, sweet tea. He felt a doubt, in the pit of his stomach.

But he took the Pai Sho tile out of his pocket to Zhao. He tossed it to him and Zhao caught it, uncertainly.

"Welcome to the White Lotus. Do not treat it lightly. It is all that is now left of the Old World."

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"This is a great day! Do you think this is a great day? I think this is a great day."

Suki looked up briefly from her bed spread with a half-amused grin at the Wolf Clan Prince. Sokka had just returned from Chief Arnook's quarters, and he was beaming with immodest pride at the success of his idea.

The Prince's plan to trade seal oil to the war-ridden Union had, at first, met considerable resistance; difficult questions were raised about the morality of selling such a war-sustaining product. The Chief of the Turtle Clan had raised an excellent point before Arnook - for with the threat of the East looming over the quickly shattering stability of the Union, and the overall destructive state of the world, would it be a responsible act to sell oil for war machines? How far would the Aurora Tribe truly go to sustain itself - far enough to destroy others, however indirectly? The Turtle Clan Chief's words made Sokka feel cold, and in dread he began to doubt the supposed mastery of his plan. Arnook had rescued him. The aged man assured the other Chief's that, no matter what the Tribe decided, the Union and the East would be at war. If oil could not be found within the boundaries of an Empire, it would simply be sought, taken, stolen from elsewhere. In supplying the needed product as a trade item, the Tribe could help avoid further bloodshed from the pursuit of oil.

With Arnook's approval, the other Chiefs were at Sokka's side (and his lineage to Wolf Clan Chief Hakoda didn't hurt either). Preparations began immediately to begin on Sokka's plans - extra merchant vessels, along with captains, traders and crew, would have to be obtained and built for shipping; an excess of oil drums would have to be constructed, new warehouses for the preparations of seal skins and oils. Some sort of limits would have to be enforced on the hunters who went out for the seals, but in the past few hundred years of the Tribe's isolation, the tiger-seal population had grown so great that this was not an immediate concern. Sokka would have skipped home from the meeting if it had been possible on the ice-lined streets, and had returned straight home to Suki with his victory.

"You're amazing, Sokka," Suki said honestly, but she was preoccupied with preparing a Reading for the coming weeks. "Now... do you mind getting that bowl? It's just there, on the table. Put it on the floor in front of the fire."

Sokka practically danced over to the table and swiped the huge, smooth, black obsidian bowl for Suki. He couldn't exactly dance back towards the fire, as the bowl seemed to weigh more than he - but after he had deposited it before the hearth, he delightfully and quickly made his way back to the Kyoshi-Shaman.

"We should celebrate," Sokka said slyly, leaning over her where she sat on the bed. She smelled of the jungle still, despite all the sea-breeze and the cold scents of the North. It intoxicated him - she was a dark, deep, wild as the untamed land from which she'd come. The scent of those massive, exotic, brilliantly-colored flowers was engraved in her skin, with the smell of fruit and mist and growing trees. She was a jungle-child in moss-caves beneath waterfalls; she was a Kyoshi-Shaman with seashells on her hips and red paint on her face. Acchai was barbaric, but she was wild as a black leopard, a level of raw beauty that sent the Prince of Al-Abhad reeling.

"I can't now, Sokka. I'm busy," Suki said, keeping her eyes on the bed spread. Strewn out before her were a great many bundles of dried herbs, seashells, fish bones, bottled liquids and potions, and other ceremonial materials: hollow bowls, a crushing stick, a red heart-jewel, various fangs and animal claws, a chain of beads to ward of evil. In a small leather bag, just off to her right, a number of Seeing Stones and owl-cat bones lay in waiting, to be throne at the Reading.

She threw the bead-chain over her head and took one of the potions from the bedspread, along with an armful of seashells, her crushing stick, and the bag of Seeing Stones. Gliding lightly around Sokka, who's face was pleading, she assembled the various things around the obsidian bowl before the fire, returning for the heart-jewel. She then seated herself before the obsidian bowl, before the raging red fire; with both her golden hands she crushed the heart-jewel and bled its juices into the bowl.

"Ah...Suki," Sokka moaned pitifully. Frustrated, he went down to his knees behind her, making little noises of displeasure that made her smile. As she poured tossed the heart-jewel aside and began to pour a new potion into the black bowl, he pressed his lips longingly against the golden skin of her neck. "Suki... I'm in such a good mood, Suki..."

"It's just a ceremony, Sokka," but she was enjoying his caressing lips on her neck. "...I have to perform it on the full moon. It will be over in a few minutes."

Sokka groaned, but flopped back onto the bedspread obediently. Suki smiled to herself as the potion mixed and hissed before her. When she was satisfied, she scooped a great quantity of it out with another wooden bowl, and then poured it into an iron pan she had waiting above the fire. She repeated this until most of the pan was full; it spat and sizzled as she dripped the potion into it, writhing like some living thing.

A remnant of the heart-jewel blood still remained in the bowl; Suki raked through her collection of shells and, after some moments of indecision, dropped several of the most brilliant into the bowl - one radiant yellow, one aqua sea-blue, one red as fresh blood. These she crushed beneath the sharpened points of her Shaman-tools, the filed ribs of a boar-q-pine. She chanted as she did so, once in _Gev_, and once in a language Sokka didn't understand.

_Coin si deya, coin se dado?-------------- (Who's your mother, Who's your father?  
Pukker mande drey Kyoshis,------------ Do thou answer me in Kyoshi,  
Ta mande pukkeravava tute.----------- And I will answer thee.)_

_Rossar-mescri minri deya!---------------- (A Hawk I have for mother,  
Vardo-mescro minro dado!---------------- A Tiger for my father,  
Coin se dado, coin si deya?--------------- Who's your father, Who's your mother?  
Mande's pukker'd tute drey Kyoshi;----- I have answer'd thee in Kyoshi,  
Knau pukker tute mande.---------------- Now do thou answer me.)_

___Petuiengro minro dado!------------------- (I have Cagn for a father,  
Purana minri deya!------------------------ And Uhlanga for my mother,  
Tatchey Kyoshi si men ------------------- True Kyoshi both are we -  
Mande's pukker'd tute drey Kyoshi, ---- For I've answer'd thee in Kyoshi,  
Ta tute's pukker'd mande. --------------- And thou hast answer'd me.)_

The tune was varied, and she sang it in a soft, drifting way that kept Sokka entranced. As she sang, she finished crushing the seashells so that the melded in a fine, multicolored powder within the deep blood-mix of the bowl. It looked odd and bright against the black obsidian, a captured rainbow beneath the Shaman's hands. Afterwards she took a long vial from her side; it was filled with clear cactus juice, of a most potent and powerful kind. She drizzled it over the bright powder as the potion in the pan began to hiss and boil. As soon as the cactus juice sank into the powder, Suki snatched up a handful and threw it, sparkling, into the fire.

"Makhosi!"

The fire sprang to life, erupted into fierce emerald flame. Sokka sprang up on the bed, startled and captivated.

"_Makhosi!_"

Suki threw back her head and downed the rest of the vial of cactus juice.

A smell from the fire spread almost instantly through the room. It was a heavy, warm, intoxicating smell; Sokka breathed it in an felt himself grow inexplicably light.

The emerald color of the fire blared, grew unbearable bright. The remainder of the room blurred and went out of focus. Sokka's body tingled, rushed, shook. A grin overcame his face and he laughed, his body filled with desire, with life, with ecstasy. He tried to shake his head to see if it was a dream - but his body seemed to move too fast. Or maybe his mind was moving too slow. His head swam. His eyes focused on the silhouette of Suki's perfect, golden body.

Suki's pupils had dilated. She looked up at the ceiling with a hint of a smile on her own face; as if of their own accord, her hands undid the Seeing bag and she withdrew the handful of bones and black stones. Her body was beginning to tremble; her eyes threatened to roll backwards into her head.

"Makhosi! Makhoso! _Makhosi_!" she cried.

She flung the stones and bones down upon the floor. The crackled and jumped, living things, before the red fire.

Suki, still drugged, looked for a long time at how they had fallen. She studied the stones uncertainly; she blinked, rubbed her eyes, and studied them again, as though she hoped something would change.

But nothing changed. Dead bones and cold stones upon the floor.

And something was wrong with the Reading.

"I have rushed myself," Suki said it in a numb voice. She could feel her fear crowding in around her like a shadow, like a whisper.

Sokka began to leave the bed as she gathered up the stones again. He was madly high, rushed, at a point so far beyond ecstasy he was having a hard time laughing simply for joy. He knew of only one thing that would make this experience better, and she was sitting before an emerald fire.

"Makhosi! Makhoso! _Makhosi_!"

Suki threw down the stones again, this time with more force, more purpose. A few bones dances from the earth and jumped into the midst of the red fire; they sparked and cracked, quickly charring to a deep and ominous black.

Suki's hands shook as she lowered them.

"I don't..." Suki stared at the stones, at that charred bones in the fire. She didn't seem able to finish her sentence.

Sokka had reached her by then. He was too high to speak; his breathe was heavy with desire and his movement was decisive. Suki, seated cross-legged on the floor, was immediately overcome - he kissed her beneath the shell-shaped curve of her ear, down her neck, all along her golden skin. Still staring hesitantly at the green fire, Suki allowed him to press her down the floor.

The floor before Suki was a mess of black stones, of shining white bones. The Reading was unlike anything she'd ever seen.

She tried to focus as Sokka kissed her skin, as he tugged longingly at her clothing. She tried to concentrate, to conjure up something to say to stop him, to focus on the severity of the Reading. But Suki was beyond that, now; she had never done a Reading with someone else in the room, and she was so wild and ecstatic now that Sokka's kisses were elaving fire on her skin.

So instead she turned her head and kissed the Prince. Instead she writhed and rang her fingers along his back, his sides, his chest. Instead she pressed her golden skin to his dark, and they made love on the floor before the roaring emerald flame, before the Seeing Stones and the owl-cat bones.

Before the desperate message in the Reading.

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Toph was sitting on one the highest ice-bridges near the center of the Tribe, her feet dangling idly over the side of the railing. She knew only how high she was by the wind whistling past her, and by the mutterings of people as they past ; "Isn't that the blind girl?", "Does she know how far up we are?", "What if she falls?"

Toph hated them. At least, that's what she told herself. But in the depth of her heart, she knew she couldn't hate them - they were ignorant, and knew her only as the blind sister of Princess Katara. They respected her, of course, though she was not Hakoda's daughter - but they did not know of her strength, of her unequaled bending ability, of her power. Toph had struggled her whole life to maintain this strength, victimized beneath the sneers of Vulha and Inau and Ravi, beneath Fong's cruel hand. Weakness was not acceptable in her nature, and it tore her apart to be considered such in this ice-land of the North. It seemed to justify everything the Lord Fong had spoken of her - a blind babe, a helpless whore-daughter, a blemish. A mistake.

Aang found her there, stumbling away from the spirit oasis and his confrontation with Yue. Guru Pathik had allowed him to leave after some deliberation, the Guru himself pondering the meaning of Yue's words. He remained seated before the pool in the oasis still, talking gently in his mind's eye to the chattering Enma, Lord of the Dead. The spirit-monkey had much to say about Yue, and the trouble the Avatar had found himself in.

Aang himself was still shaken, still unsure of what he had seen, what he'd felt. The kindness and terror of the Moon Goddess, and the impact of his own destiny, had hit him in a way nothing else had - not the death of his mother, not the sacrifice of Gyatso. He dreaded returning to face Guru Pathik, Master Pakku. He dreaded having to tell Katara and Sokka, having to explain the severity of his mistake.

But most of all he dreaded Toph. He dreaded what she would think, what she would say, when he told her. He dreaded leaving her.

Because Aang was decided, already. Aang knew he was leaving.

"Toph?" he was hesitant. Even now, he could tell she was in a bad mood, and it was making him sweat beneath the pressing cold.

"Hey Aang," Toph muttered, feeling completely useless in the presence of the Avatar. She sniffed and rubbed her nose, red and running. "...Don't mind me, Aang. I'm just... here."

Aang watched her, still caught in the cobweb of his own despair. Slowly, he climbed onto the railing beside her, seating himself close to her fur-covered side. He decided he liked her better dressed in green than in blue; the earth-colors suited her.

"No one seems a good mood 'round 'ere," Aang muttered. He felt cold, strangled - as though the spirit-wood was still trying to capture him. Toph sniffed and didn't turn her head toward him.

"I hate it here," she claimed, quietly, and tears sprang unwilling to her eyes.

Aang hesitated, scratched the back of his head, and looked at her. Bundled in the huge, awkward blue furs, her black bangs flown all over her tear-lined eyes, she looked so despondent that it forced even Aang out of his slump. The cloud over his own head seemed to lessen, when he tried to comfort Toph.

"Ah, y'know... ain't so bad. The food be rank an' all... an' is colder than an iced hell... but 'sides tha'..."

A smile flittered across Toph's face, but it was fleeting. For a long moment after that the airbender and earthbender sat in a depressed silence. Aang could not at once think of another conversation starter, and Toph was trying hard not to lose it beside the Avatar. The earthbender, as useless as she felt, was even more aware of the fact when she was beside him. Aang must have sensed it, must have sensed something, and felt compelled to speak.

"I'm sorry 'bout this all, Toph," even though Aang wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for. "Can't 'magine you got much to do 'round 'ere. None of us see ch'other no mo'. An' you got dragg'd 'way from the only place y'knew. I know wha' it feels like, see, to get dragg'd from home. If I 'adn't been so wrong, back in Masabi... "

"It's not about that," Toph cut him off quickly, so that the memory of Masabi could not return to them. She was aware of his aversion to that incident and didn't want the air of the night to grow even gloomier. Aang drummed his hands on the railing, fingers inches from Toph's, and turned slightly towards her.

"Well... wha's wrong?" he asked, honestly. Toph shivered, clutched her fur coat closer to her chilled body.

"...I'm... I'm just feeling sorry for myself, you know," she muttered, but there was a tremor in her voice. Aang thought for a moment, and then edged closer to her just a bit, so his hand hardly touched hers on the cold railing.

"Toph... s'ok to talk 'bout," it had to be said that Aang, at this moment, had selfish thoughts going in his head as well as his concern for her. Scared as he was to admitting he was leaving, he thought perhaps if he eased her own turmoil first, she'd better respond at his own announcement. He had decided she would be the only one he told; Katara was well-adjusted in her training, and Sokka was comfortable with the company of Suki and the approval and guidance of Arnook. They would be able to handle his departure, whereas he knew Toph was left alone. And she, he knew deep inside, was the one he needed to say goodbye to most of all. The one he needed to explain to most of all.

"It's not..." she said, but stopped. Aang waited, quiet as the grave. When she did not respond after a long, conflicted moment, he finally put his hand on top of hers. She jumped a little at his touch, but didn't pull away.

"Toph..." he barely whispered it, but her ears heard it like a shout.

She trembled, and closed her fingers around Aang's.

"I've lived my whole life blind, Aang. But I've never _felt _blind."

She brought her knees up to her chest, then, and buried her face in them so he couldn't see her tears. Her body shook; Aang's heart failed him as she did so, and in a moment his arms were around her, a tight and sorrowful embrace.

She cried for some time, muttering incoherent things to the airbender Aang held her tight, stroked her dark hair. It was getting late, and the full moon was staring down at them in earnest; Aang tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the face of Yue from the high heavens. The wind died down in modest respect to the couple on the bridge, Toph struggling to control herself in the arms of the torn airbender, still unsure of his own self.

"Thanks, Aang," she said uncertainly, his arm still around her. "I'm sorry... I'm fine, really."

Aang kept his arm around her, his fingers playing idly with her black hair. She settled into his shoulder after a minute, not really knowing what else to do, and enjoying the warmth of his body beside her. Aang held onto her, enjoying the moment as much as she; he was secretly taking in the fruity, fragrant smell of her hair, the feeling of her small form. He glanced down at her face, half-covered in the niqab, and began to wonder how her creamy skin would feel. The color of her lips.

It made it more difficult to make the moment last, and he struggled not to let his mind wander. The Avatar hated what he had to tell her now. He hated his decision. He hated it because he knew it would draw them away from this good, close position they were in. He knew it would ruin it.

"Toph," Aang finally said akwardly, in a low voice. "I been... I been thinkin'. This place don' seem ta' be helpin' me none... can't do what needs ta' be done 'ere. Y'know wha' I mean?"

"Everyone keeps telling me it will get better," Toph huffed sarcastically. "Everyone keeps saying to give it time. I don't really believe them, though."

"Yeah... yeah, 'xactly. S'not the righ' place, see? I mean... so... I need ta'... I need ta' be gettin' somewhere else. Somewhere I can get it figured, y'know?"

Toph hesitated, and pulled a little out of Aang's embrace. His mouth went dry.

"...What?"

"Is jus'..." Aang swallowed, felt fear flow through him as her misted eyes looked in the direction of his voice. Even though she was blind, even though he knew there was no way she could see him, her gaze pierced him as sharp as the icicles hanging from the bridge. "Please, Toph, see, is jus' - can't explain it, really. Jus' - I jus' gotta get from 'ere. There be - there be things I need ta' be doin', an I can't do 'em 'ere. Is things I - hell fo', is so damn 'ard to talk with you lookin' at me such, Toph -"

"Aang..?" Toph was completely bewildered by Aang's halting, nervous words. "Aang - what - Aang you _can't _leave! Why are you talking about leaving?"

"Is... Is 'ard, Toph. is 'ard, tellin' you. A feel closest to you, see. But... but I gotta go. Gotta figure things..."

"Figure things?" Toph exclaimed, and slid down from the railing onto the ice bridge, still staring furiously in the direction of the airbender. "Figure _what _things? You can't just - just run away! You don't run away from your responsibilities! You don't run away from the people who care!"

"Toph, please," Aang got down from the railing too, feeling like his heart had dropped down to his toes. "I ain't... I ain't runnin' 'way. I got ta' go. Is... is Avatar stuff needs fixin', see? An' I gotta do it somewhere else. Somewhere... somewhere far. Is the only place I know of can 'elp me some."

"You -" Toph hesitated, but then pressed on relentlessly. "No, Aang! We just got here! We came here so that you could be with Guru Pathik, so that you _could _figure out this Avatar stuff! You're - you are running away, and you're a selfish bastard for doing it! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I'm tryin' to do the righ' thing, Toph!" Aang's voice was raising, raising to a yell. "Ya' think I like it? Ya' think I wan' it? Is 'ard like hell, Toph -"

"Don't you dare fuckin' make excuses to me! Don't you fuckin' pretend like you're doing the right thing!"

"Don' go cussin' a storm! I don' wan' it like this, Toph! Don' make it 'arder than it is!"

"_You're _the one making it hard!"

"I'm tryin' to be righ'! I'm tryin' to do ma' duty! Your the one as can't deal with it!"

"_B__astard -_"

Toph shook her head angrily and stepped towards where she thought Aang was, her hand flying out to push him hard in the shoulder. She missed by a mile, and threw all of her weight into empty air. Before Aang could blink, her balance was off and she had slipped upon the ice, slipped and fell forward towards the railing, her mouth open in a silent scream of surprise.

Aang lunged, placing himself between her and the railing, saving her from smacking her head and getting a concussion. She fumbled into him and they both slid down to the bridge, surprised and askew, Toph fallen on top of him. Aang landed hard on his ass, which sent a sharp jolt of pain up from his rear and made him utter a very unflattering gasping sound. Toph was still fully on him, fully unable to be on her own feet, and she floundered to try and get herself up.

"Aang - Aang, I'm sorry -" she struggled to get off of him, but did not entirely make it, still slipping on the ice. Aang propped himself up and grabbed hold of her waist so that she steadied somewhat, her hands placed awkwardly on his shoulders. Their furs had slid every which-way around their arms and faces, and as she adjusted her hood and coat, he became increasingly aware of his fingers wrapped around her hips. He remembered how she looked in the Wedding Feast dress at Masabi, the miles of curves he'd drank in, imagined, dreamed of. Now his hands were at her hips. Now her was feeling her curves beneath the thickness of the blue furs.

"Is... fine, Toph, I'm full fine," the airbender assured her. His fingers traced nervously along her waistline.

Toph must have felt his fingers there, must have known he was fixated on her delicate curves. The realization of it sent a rush through her; a rush of delight, of fear. Her heart beat in a way that was new to her, a way that was wonderful and terrible. Part of her wanted desperately to push away from him - but part of her wanted him to continue, to glide his hands along her body, to admire the every inch that made her. It was an idea so tantalizing she remained half in his lap for a longer moment than she should have, staring up blindly where she guessed his face to be.

"Take me with you," she whispered finally, miserably. "Take me away. I hate it here. I _hate _it."

Aang stared at her. The longing in her startling, glazed blue eyes was the most convincing thing he'd ever seen, and her warm body beneath his hands was not helping the matter. He tried to restrain himself, control himself as the Avatar was want to - he had often heard of the importance of restraint, of responsibility, from Gyatso. But Aang had been a shitty Avatar so far, and there wasn't much sense in changing that now.

"Wha' 'bout Katara? Wha' 'bout Sokka?" he breathed. He couldn't even come up with a protest.

A brief, regretful gleam came into Toph's eyes. Aang was so captivated with the misted blue of her gaze he almost didn't feel her fingers reaching up to his chin, trailing to the edge of his mouth.

"Aang..."

He realized her fiingers at his lips. He realized the intent in her eyes, though she could not see him.

Aang reached up and immediately undid the niqab; there was a half moment as he leaned forward, as she went to wrap her arms around his neck.

Her lips tasted like cinnamon. Aang kissed her, deeply, took her in his arms. Toph placed herself in his lap, did not pull away.

And Aang knew he couldn't leave her.

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Myobu was seated at the very top of the mountainous rock structure that loomed in the Thieve's camp. No tents had been pitched here, lest these Thieves be at the mercy of an unrelenting Desert sun. That, and the top of the rock had an odd, carven shape in the midst of it that the Thieves claimed to be sacred: an oddly decorated hexagon, embedded about three feet into the rock.

The Fox stood in the middle of this hexagon, shaking, snarling, waiting. He knew the _Sahib_ was coming and found no interest in the fact; except, perhaps, that he would like to tear out the Thief's throat. He had swiftly and instantly forgotten about Zuko and the plan to enlist the Thieves of Gihad; there was no more importance to him regarding the firebender's destiny and Acchai. Something else, something far greater to the being of the Fox, had reared its ugly head.

_Sahib_ arrived directly after the sun had set. Myobu had been growling long before he came, standing over the hexagon protectively. As the Thief mounted to the top of the stone, the Fox lunged for his tanned throat, ignoring whatever damage it would do upon him.

A biting, shrill ring went through the spirit's ears.

Myobu stopped short, claws cutting grooves into the hexagon. He snarled, fangs bared, saliva hanging in wet ropes from his jaw.

_Sahib Timur's _sword was half-drawn, his body tensed, his eyes hard. His cold, white blade gleamed in the gathering darkness.

"Myobu, Voice of Inari."

The Fox growled, leapt again towards the _Sahib_, clipped his fangs together in an iron snap.

_Sahib _drew the long, straight blade from its sheath with a deafening ring. He sliced the air before him and held it straight out to his side.

Mybou writhed, snarled, but did not dare to strike again. The _Sahib _remained perfectly still, studying the movements of the spirit-Fox. There was something wrong with Myobu, something wrong altogether; he was crazed, deluded, uncertain, and dangerous because of it. Within the Desert, at the doorstep of the Thieves of Gihad, a deep, old scent had stirred his nostrils; the scent of a world before Time, a world still new in the expanse of the Void. In his enslavement to Wan Shi Tong, when he had come the Thieves for worship, the scent had not made itself known to him. He was not of his own will, and the Great Owl had kept such things hidden from the Runners; but now the scent was his own, and it was one so startling and terrifying and wonderful it had thoroughly confused the younger spirit, and in his confusion he bared his teeth and snarled.

It was a scent masked by knowledge and regret. It was scent that possesed power over the red earth, over the spirit flowing through the Fox. I was a scent of the ages, a scent of worlds beyond even the spirits.

_Sahib _knew he would get no answer from the crazed Fox. But as the Hundred Eyes retreated to the edge of the rock, towards the winding path that led down to the red Desert, Myobu bared his teeth.

It was not Myobu's voice that sprang from the depths of the Fox; it was an older voice, a fiercer voice, a voice soaked with the echoes of the Void. It shook the air, shook the fur on Myobu's coat, shook the soul of the _Sahib_.

_AWAKEN GUI XIAN. AWAKEN THE BLACK WARRIOR._

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_Cagn is the god of creation in the Kalahari Bushmen legends; Uhlanga is, in the Zulu legends, a swamp from which all humanity was born. The song is a Romani song called Welling Kattaney (The Gypsy Meeting)._

_By the way, sorry about the lack of Zutara lately. But the whole next chapter is dedicated to it :D_


	12. The Fox and the Owl

Jin was holding white lilies.

She had no money to buy flowers. She had stolen them from a vendor in Masabi.

Jin was standing before a freshly-dug mound of earth, beneath a barren cherry blossom tree.

She had no money for workers. She had dug the grave herself.

And Jin had placed a slab of rock upon the head of the grave, as she had no money to purchase a tombstone.

Her father's name she had written upon the stone in cheap charcoal. The first rain would wash it away, but she hoped, at least for some time, that the people would refrain from walking on the old man's grave. Her tears were silent and her eyes were empty; a wind blew from the North, a terrible and haunting howling in the leafless cherry blossoms.

Jin held herself and stared at her father's grave a long time.

There was no tea shop in Masabi. There was no money in her pocket. There was no one waiting for her at the city gates.

"I know you told me to stay away, Jet. But you are all I have now."

She placed the white lilies upon the grave. Then she turned and left, walking briskly down the hill, towards the Desert, towards Acchai, towards the Union.

Wind blew through the branches of the barren cherry blossom. It groaned and cracked, as though corrupted, destroyed. A world consumed in fire.

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Katara was clothed in white. It was traditional, for all women who entered the High Temple, to be dressed in this way; clothed in a color of purity, of truth and respect. The Doves themselves wore only white, ever only the bleached and staring white - starched, colorless, fur-lined robes with no creases, folded delicately around their tiny forms, thin from fasting and prayer. Their shoes were white, and their gloves were white, and each Dove's delicate, ceremoniously carved Moon-Amulet was white. White and bright as a full moon, as a fresh layer of snow upon the frozen tundra of the North. Their skin seems shades darker in comparison, their eyes made of black opal; the sweeping locks of their ebony hair were as midnight, and the picture of them was uncanny, surreal, contradictory. Katara was in awe of them, but she was also intimidated, unsure.

In respect of the Acchain custom, a white shawl had been brought for Katara to wrap about her head, in place of the niqab. The Doves assisted her to the Altar, as it was in the very highest arcs of the Temple, closest as the Tribe could approach the moon. It took near fifteen minutes to climb the great, winding staircase to the High Halls, to the Altar of the Moon Spirit; the staircase was made of cold, white marble, draped with fur of the winter wolf to represent Amarok, the Hunting Spirit. The great, Gray Wolf was the source of all things to the Tribe, the Hunter, the swift and silent spirit that stalked the edges of the Northern Waste and guided lost Tribesmen home. Even Katara knew of Amarok, and she feared and loved him just as all those of the Tribe feared and loved him.

It was late, and the halls had been lit with flickering red candles, illuminating the many river-daughters and ocean-nymphs of Tribe lore. Great pillars of glistening marble stood about the small waterbender, dwarfing her shadowed form. The High Altar was placed beneath a great opening in the vaulted ceiling, which allowed the starlight to illuminate Yue's shining, carven white figure; immobilized as she was, etched forever into solid stone surface of the Temple wall, a certain, eerie vitality lingered about her frame. Sometimes, in the shadows and moving light cast by the candles, her sweeping, billowing form seemed to move and drift; her blank, staring white eyes seemed to blink, seemed to look straight through you.

Katara had lit all the candles before the High Altar, the place of worship and homage to the Mistress in the Moon, Yue the Virgin Spirit. She had little idea of how to worship the Mistress, despite the brief instruction of the Doves. In fact, she had little, if any idea why she had even come here. Yue was not her goddess, despite her lineage, and Katara had little belief she would hear her. But Katara knew, also, that there was nowhere else to turn; the memory of the Black lane haunted her, and no one could share in her frustration, her grief.

She felt weak, helpless, just as she had in the terrible halls of Al-Abhad, in their flight from Masabi. It ate at her, the empty faces of the dying, the way the Tribe turned away, ignored, forgot.

"Zuko."

Katara breathed it against the flickering of the candles, and it became smoke, curling upwards into the dark rafters of the Temple.

No one answered her.

She needed his strength. She needed his fierce, fiery soul to support her. Zuko would not have seen the Black Lane and allowed it to exist; he would not have tolerated the misery and the agony, the reluctance of the Tribe. He would have stormed his way to the doors of Arnook's quarters and demanded action be taken, no matter what any Chief or healer said.

Katara could not help but smile at the thought of it. Zuko, enraged, probably melting the floor beneath his feet with angry flame.

And then she was reminded, again, of hardly-skinned skeletons, of corpses lying beside the living. She felt her stomach churn.

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Zuko's hands were still broken. He was lying on his side in the cold midnight sand, his back towards the embers of a swiftly dying fire. Various other slaves were huddled around him, so close to the flame they seemed ready to throw themselves into the ashes. They were all of different ages, all men, having been separated from the woman-slaves early on in the slave-stock; Hama, thankfully, was no longer near enough to curdle Zuko's blood with her sick smile. Many of the slaves were wounded, with hands broken like Zuko's - that, or great, deep whip-gashes glistened across their backs (these were older slaves, who had possessed former masters). He was on the outer skirts of their huddled, smelly, filthy mass, barren skin pressed to barren skin, Zuko himself barely able to keep warm because of his fire-breathe.

Zuko was destroyed by the betrayal of Myobu, enraged at his helplessness. He stared out into the dark, into the vast, shadowed expanse of the Desert.

"...Katara..."

Zuko breathed it into the frozen night air, and it came out in a silent mist, forgotten snow falling to the blood-red sand.

No one answered him.

He tried to leave reality. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine a place - any place - other than the cold night-washed Desert he lay abandoned in. He tried to imagine her.

He found himself in the depths of the Library. There was no Wan Shi Tong, he discovered; there were no Runners, no staring eyes in the dark, no haunt of man or spirit's footsteps. He was gazing at her down upon the floor from his couch, her body spread across the rainbow variety of sheets and pillows and cushions. Her niqab was undone and she was looking up at him, smiling.

She beckoned him, and he came to her. His hands were not broken, not in this half-awake dream of his; he was running his fingers through her hair, down her cheek, across her soft skin. And she was _soft _- soft, and warm, and welcoming.

He imagined his hands on her thighs, and her hot breathe against him. Her small, delicate fingers were tracing his lips.

_They buried the Black Warrior. They buried him in the red sand so he would shrivel and dry and die._

It was, at the moment, the most unpleasant way Zuko could be wrenched from his daydream.

_You cannot smell it. Your mortal flesh is weak, and you cannot smell it._

Myobu's red coat was diminished in the deep dark of the Desert night, his form visible only against the golden glow of the Thieves' campfires. His eyes were bright and wide and wild, and within the moving shadows they did not even resemble eyes; they were twin comets, rogues of the heavens, caught forever within the snarling, eerily-confused face of the Spirit-Fox. Myobu was before Zuko's, moving about in the dark, a wolf stalking, preparing its moment to strike. It took Zuko a long moment to answer the Fox, his throat stuck, choked with fear, with fury.

"I smell a fucking shitbag, _gǒuzǎizi," _Zuko's snarl was almost as terrific and animalistic as Myobu's.

Myobu did not respond. He paced before the chained firebender, snarling, growling, tossing his head and shoulders as though some dark thought hung on him like a pecking crow. He shook his fiery coat and trembled and clawed at the sands, restless and irate. At some point his great, massive jaw opened wide, and there was blood on his gums from grinding his sharp teeth; he snapped at the blackness of the air, as though trying to silence, destroy, devour whatever evil thing was digging at his mind. This went on for some time, with Zuko watching perplexed and angered and awed; the distressed Myobu grew more and more anxious as the minutes passed, more and more distraught. Finally, and with complete commitment, Myobu pressed his muzzle to the ground and began to tear, ruthlessly, at his nose.

At the sight of the Fox's claws tearing into his own snarling face, fresh reminders of pain surged up from Zuko's hands. He writhed and groaned, but did not take his eyes from the Fox. Myobu seemed all too intent on ripping his nose off, so intent it was nerve-racking.

"Myobu?" Zuko could hardly dare to say the spirit's name. Myobu snarled, still tearing at his muzzle, allowing only a second for his eyes to snap up and glare at the firebender.

_Gui Xian tortures me! Tortures me with smells of the ancients, with smells of the Void and the Deep World!_

Myobu's jaw snapped together with a loud, metallic clip. He dug three great claws into his soft, black nose, and it burst into a streamer of fresh blood.

Zuko cringed, drawing his hands in towards his chest. Weak and alone and enslaved, the firebender struggled to keep composure, especially before the apparently unstable form of the Spirit-Fox. Blood was pouring from Myobu's nose onto the red sand, and still the spirit was tearing away, his flaming eyes beacons in the dark.

"You're out of your fucking mind," Zuko finally managed.

Myobu snarled, writhed, sprang towards the firebender. Zuko tensed and spat fire between his teeth, but there was little else he could do, preparing for the inexplicable wrath of the Spirit.

But Myobu stopped before the heir of Agni. His bloody teeth were bared, saliva stained red, inches from the firebender's face; Zuko could feel the Fox's hot breathe, see the glistening white spires of his great fangs. Myobu's form shook, shivered, threatened to strike again with a halting jerk forward.

_You! You must awaken him!_

And Myobu wrapped his jaw around Zuko's upper arm and took off, dragging him suddenly to the Thieve's rock.

Zuko roared as teeth pierced his flesh. Myobu had not grasped him hard enough to shatter bone, nor tear rivets into his already scarred skin - but he was not in enough in a right mind to keep his grip soft enough, and blood began to slide down Zuko's arm in thin streams. The firebender yelled and fought, but this only further slashed his skin against Myobu's fangs, and he could not use his broken hands to fend the creature off. In mounting agony and fury, the firebender was dragged across the earth by his blood-wet arm, kicking wild streams of sand behind him, body leaving grooves in the Desert. Myobu's pace constant and immovable, his eyes briliiant, both he and Zuko's blood dripping from his jaw as he ran.

When they reached the black rock, Myobu did not pause or hesitate before recoiling all his muscles and springing upwards to mount the cold stone. Zuko thrashed desperately as the Fox began to leap, in bounds, up the face of the rock; with each and every landing, the firebender was slammed hard into the unrelenting stone, causing a brief and painful tremor to resound through his form. In a moment, though, he was wrenched into the air again, as Myobu leapt upwards, still dragged solely by the arm trapped in the Fox's jaw. The jerking, violent motion flung him hard, at every impossible angle, into the face of the black rock. His back tore from the brutality of it, and bruises soon began forming on his sun-scorched skin amidst the gashing. Zuko roared and flailed, but it was to no avail, and probably more to his detriment - by the time they reached the summit of the rock, his back was all scattered cuts and bruising, and Myobu had left puncture wounds in the flesh of his arm.

The Fox deposited him roughly and instantly in the midst of that hexagon, that ominous, strange-feeling stone. Zuko rolled up upon his knees from where the Fox had dropped him, still clutching his hands feebly to his chest, muttering curses and quick, sudden gasps of pain.

"_Ah - Agni_ - God, you mother_fucker_ -"

Myobu was not even listening. He had returned to his spot on the far side of the hexagon, trembling and salivating and bleeding from his torn gums. His glistening red coat seemed ragged now, blood drying on his front, body trembling constantly, violently. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed, pupils shrunk, bloodshot and full of unholy fire. The Spirit was steadily and horribly falling to pieces.

_Awaken Gui Xian. Awaken the Black Warrior._

The Fox's voice was desperate, strained, insistent. But it was not a request, not even a demand - it was a threat, and Myobu's eyes were crazed, insane.

"Fuck..." Zuko had no idea what to say. He had no idea what was happening anymore. He could not clutch at the wounds on his arm or back, hands still broken and bleeding now from his violent abduction to the rock. Confused, betrayed, and probably at death's door, he closed his eyes, choosing to ignore the Fox. Weak with apin, with rage, with uncertainty, he turned his mind back to Katara.

She was smiling at him. She was running her fingers through his hair.

_"**AL AN! ASRE'**!"_

The sacred language struck the air like fire from heaven, a thousand spears on the Spirit's tongue; it sent Zuko straight to the ground, compelled by voices from the Void.

And then, as Zuko collapsed forward, cry half-choked from the weight of the the ancient tongue, a strange, altogether unexpected thing happened. Zuko, still upon his knees, tumbled forwards so that his broken hands pressed roughly to the hexagon floor. He opened his mouth to cry in pain, but no sound came; there was one tremor through the black stone, and one only.

Zuko did not at first realize what had happened. The pain was gone so instantaneously that he wavered in disbelief for a long moment, perplexed, amazed. No cuts on his back, no bruises on his skin, no mark of teeth in his arm. He stared at the full, healed look of his hands, turning them over, pondering them in the dark.

It was in this moment a Thief mounted the summit of the rock. He had seen Myobu's form, barely, dragging a great figure up the winding path. Whether in idiocy or in courage, the Thief had followed the rogue Spirit to the peak, to the very hexagon embedded in the black stone.

"_Mtwana!_" the man yelled, angrily, in his barbaric language. Zuko could hear his approach behind him, thud of footsteps on the strange blackened rock.

He chanced a glance at Myobu. The Fox was still panting, gums bloody, eyes like hellfire.

The Thief approached from behind, recognizing the man in the hexagon as a runaway slave. No doubt he intended some sort of creative punishment for Zuko; but Zuko was looking at Myobu.

The Fox seemed small, gray. He was shaking.

And Zuko realized, suddenly inexplicably, that Myobu was about to die.

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Katara breathed deeply, smelled the incense, felt the cold tears beneath her eyes. They dripped down, silent and empty, and soaked the edge of the white shawl she wore about her face.

Hollow eyes and swollen stomachs. Crusted blood and bile.

"Please," Katara broke beneath the memory of the Black Lane, and said it without thinking, and then managed to compose herself. She took another deep breathe of the incense, and then bowed her head toward in white were drifting past at every other moment, and she felt humbled and uncertain before the pedestal of the Moon Goddess.

"I am no Dove," she said slowly, in not much more than a whisper. "And I have always been a lady of the Acchain spirits - of Saraswati, and Lakshmi. But... but I come before you now, Yue. I come before a child of the Aurora Tribe, of your people. I come before you confused, and with no one else to go to."

The flames on the candle seemed to flicker, but it was only a draft from the high opening in the ceiling. There was little starlight drifting from the sky, half-shadowed with gray cloud. Katara hesitated, and looked up, humbly, at the blank and powerful eyes of Yue.

The Moon Goddess stared down at her, cold and stern. But there was also kindness in her gaze. Also grace. It gave the waterbender the smallest glimmer of hope.

"I do not believe you will speak to me," she kept her eyes on Yue. "But... I had to add my voice..."

She looked around her, then, to see if any Doves were near. She did not wish to offend any of those who were striving, hard, to solve the same crisis that plagued the Black Lane; the Doves themselves gave all they had to those in the Black Lane, to the Virgin Yue, to kindness and mercy and healing. When she surmised she was safe and alone, she returned her focus to Yue.

"There is great suffering in the Aurora Tribe, with the people of the North. Many are sick... and many are dying. They say there is no cure. the healers - your most precious children - they can do little to ease the suffering. I ask you to com to the aid of a people in grief. They are your daughters. They are the sons of Amarok."

And she bowed, pressing her forehead to the floor, spreading her palms out before her, faced up towards the heavens.

"I implore the Virgin. I implore Yue, the Mistress in the Moon. I implore you for help."

She lay prostrate before the Altar a long time. There was no sound in the halls of the High Temple, aside from the whistle of distant wind, and the low drum of footsteps in lower halls. The candles crackled from where they stood, unsure, at Yue's cold, lifeless Altar. Katara's hands grew cold as they lay upon the floor, as cold as the frozen tundra of the North, as cold as the dying people in the streets of the Black Lane. As cold as the despair in Katara's heart, as the utter and terrible futility of her prayers.

Tears sprang to her eyes. She kept her forehead pressed to the ground, crying silently onto the marble floor. It was a long while before she raised herself from the white rock, a long time before she possessed enough strength to sit up. The edge of her white shawl was soaked, but she did not much care; let the Doves know she had been crying. Let them know she had sobbed before the Altar of Yue. She had probably not been the first to break down before the silent, staring portrait of the Moon Goddess. The cruel and silent Virgin.

Snow was drifting down from the slit in the ceiling, a light, wispy snow. Katara opened her palm and let a flake touch, gently, upon her dark, Tribal skin. She closed her fingers around it and it melted to a frail droplet; she let it drip through her fingers, and raised her face again to Yue.

Perhaps she was despairing, and would have continued to cry. Perhaps she was angry, and would have thrown herself, fists flailing, mouth cursing, upon the Altar. Perhaps she had even resigned to the futility of her coming, resigned to the existence of the Black Lane. All in all, it was not remembered in the end.

Because there was a feather upon the Altar. A white feather, delicate as a fresh snowflake.

Snow fell lightly around Katara, fell around her like whispers, like things forgotten.

A cold night and a red moon. A girl with white hair falling... falling.

Katara stared at the feather.

_**Aasef, sagheer ta'er.**_

_I am sorry, Little Bird._

And then part of the Yue, part of her great, marble-white portrait, moved.

An owl had perched upon the Altar. It was huge, as large as an Acchain gold-eagle; when it moved, its wings stretched out on either side and gathered up a full seven feet in length, soft and beautiful and imposing. It stared calmly at the frozen waterbender before the Altar, its wide, unblinking eyes huge and dark and blue as the ocean deeps. Its thick, white coat glimmered faintly in the gathering dark, in the illumination of the red candles upon the Altar. Intelligence flickered in its gaze and there was purpose to its movement; lolling its head from side to side, it shuffled along the edge of the Altar, moving steadily closer to the waterbender. Its yellow talons dug into the stone as it moved, leaving scratches on the marble.

Katara's breathe was caught. She tried to tell herself, remind herself, that it was just an owl - only an owl.

The owl cocked its head to one side and studied her. There were shadows moving behind the blue in its eyes.

"...Go... away with you, owl..." but Katara's hand did not move to shoo the beast. She was motionless, watching the creature desperately, intently. Waiting.

The owl opened its mouth and gave a startling, echoing cry.

Katara jumped horribly when she heard it, but the owl remained still. Instantly she grew angry at herself, and half rose to finally swat the bird away.

**_Hadee', sagheer ta'er._**

And the ancient sound stopped her.

_Go to Nabau in the deep jungle. Find the Many-Colored Serpent._

And then the owl leapt from the Altar and disappeared through the wide opening in the ceiling, flying up to the high heavens and the clouded stars.

It left only a feather upon the Altar.

Slowly, Katara stood from the marble floor. Her hand shaking, she reached and took the feather from the Altar, the unreal feeling of the delicate thing in her hand.

She looked up, blindly, disbelievingly, at the blank, white eyes of the Virgin Yue.

They stared back blue.

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Acchai was quiet and watchful. The threat of Zuko had diminished significantly in the time of his absence, but the threat still loomed over the war-lands. Encamped in a shaded, tucked away valley on the edge of the _Hamun-Jat _river, the army was growing more skilled - but it also grew more restless.

Sen Su had long been intent at carving shafts for his iron-tipped arrows; so long, in fact, that it was beginning to bother his smaller brother Lee. The other archers had long finished the training drills the young Sen Su had given them, and were lazing around idly, unsure why their Captain ignored them. Pipsqueak had long been enlisted by Hakoda to help train warriors who could not bend; he was an obedient and efficient teacher that the Chief found much use for, especially in discipline. The gigantic man may have had little in regards to brains, but his fierce and loyal spirit was more than enough compensation for the setback of his intelligence.

The man's current task was in transporting great spears and swords and armor from various smiths and tradesmen; the army was not as well-suited as it could have been, and Hakoda had immediately began rectifying this situation. As Pipsqueak deposited his most recent load beside a group of armor-less soldiers, he noticed the archer sitting aside. he noticed, also, the idleness of the archers under his charge, and even in his dull-witted mind, surmised something awry.

"How your training go?" Pipsqueak attempted, despite the fact that Sen Su looked less than approachable. The archer ignored the giant and continued to tear ruthlessly at the wood with his carving-knife. Pipsqueak sighed, scratched the back of his head.

"...I think Song make rabbit-stew tonight. My favorite," he grinned in delight. Sen Su said nothing; just tossed aside the finished arrow and picked u another branch of wood.

Pipsqueak was saved from another conversation attempt by the passing of the General. Jeong-Jeong, annoyed at the conditions of Zuko's departure, was no less the loyal to his duty. And his past attachments to Hakoda still existed, aside from whatever disagreements he harbored with the Chief's more merciful tactics; that, and despite his denouncement of the importance of destiny, he possessed the same Acchain faith in the Avatar. If this Heir of Agni had a destiny intertwined with the Savior, then it was Jeong-Jeong's sacred duty to aid him in conquest. No other ruler was fit to unite the war-lands; no other ruler would Jeong-Jeong bow to, in the end. Sen Su, however, was young and foolish, and when he saw the great firebender walked by he leapt from his seat to speak with him.

"General! General, when will my Lord return?" there was no hesitation on the General's part.

"Concentrate on training your archers."

Jeong-Jeong brushed by the young Sen Su with a cold and discontented air. The threat of the Runners had been growing in the back of his mind, a quiet but persistent evil, and the General had little time for the musing and doubts of a foolish warrior youth. His firebenders were growing excellently in their training, but nothing, of course, was quite excellent enough to please the General.

Sen Su stood silent a minute, and then begrudgingly returned to his seat with the branch. A deeply clouded look had possessed most of his face and Pipsqueak, concerned but brave, put his hand on the young archer's shoulder.

"Lord will return soon. No worries, ey?" he tried. The archer shrugged his hand away.

"And where has he gone, oh enlightened one?" Sen Su spat ill-humoredly. Pipsqueak hesitated a moment, but then went on confidently:

"He goes to Thieves. He finds help. That's what he doing."

"Or he has fled," Sen Su muttered, and even Pipsqueak, his loyal friend, seemed deeply disturbed by the archer's comment.

"Sen Su, he is good Lord. He good to us both. He be back."

"We all saw him go," Sen Su spat bitterly, and his discontent was now drawing the attention of other warrors. "We saw him run, right after the fight with Mongke's men. How do we know he did not simply run with his tail between his legs?"

"I hope sometimes, Sen Su, that your grip on that bow is not as loose as your tongue."

Hakoda was behind Sen Su. The other warriors looked away, ashamed in the presence of the Chief, ashamed for Sen Su's ramblings. Sen Su stopped carving and stood, slowly, to face the stern-faced Chieftan.

Around them, the army seemed to slow and watch. Restless and discontent as they all were, none of them had yet voiced their darkest thoughts: that the Lord Zuko had betrayed and abandoned them. No one would yet dare to think such things of the Heir of Agni, and it was Sen Su's weakness, not his courage, that forced him to speak. They had seen Myobu run with the Lord; they had seen death haunt his footsteps. They had seen it and known it and kept it in their hearts.

Sen Su, however, had a weak heart. Sen Su had forgotten.

"What right have you to be dishonoring your Lord this way?" Hakoda asked, without allowing Sen Su to open his mouth to explain. The Chief had little patience for rumors and idle talk, and behavior such as Sen Su's was not tolerable in his mind. "You know he rides to the aid of us all. If you are to stir up lies in your Lord's absence than you are not worthy to serve him."

Tension sparked. From some distant corner, Jeong-Jeong snapped his fingers and lit his pipe disinterestedly. He had no respect, and consequently no fear, for the young Sen Su. If the archer had known this, he may have re-evaluated the position in which he stood.

"I know only the warning that lies in my heart," Sen Su responded bravely.

"Than you forget the mercy of your Lord," Hakoda declared, and his voice has risen to a fiercer tone that made several men step back in anticipation. Sen Su did not retreat, but a hesitant gleam came into his eye. "You forget, young archer, that it was Lord Zuko of Agni who spared your brother's hand. It was Lord Zuko of Agni who gave you rank, who gave you high esteem among this army. If not for the Lord of Agni, you would be begging on a roadside, without Lord, home, or cause to fight. You forget, young archer, and in forgetting you dishonor your Lord."

The archer swallowed, but Hakoda saw no remorse in his eyes. The same dark thought was in his mind, and the presence of it drew up a wrath little-seen in the Chieftan. So with the army watching, in full view of Pipsqueak, and his brother Lee, Hakoda grabbed the front of the archer's collar with a rough, angry grip that forced the man to look him in the eye.

"You are young, Sen Su. Young, and strong, and proud. And for that reason I council you not to trust too much in your heart."

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Aang had stopped shaving his head since the events at Masabi. He had done it subconsciously, for he still had access to razors and knives - but in some strange way, this seemed to be the airbender's way of lamenting his horrific mistake in the Emperor's city. It was the glory of a monk, the honor of a peace-seeker, to shave his head and deny these certain physical vanities. Yet Aang, having betrayed this rule, betrayed the teachings of Gyatso, now wore a shaggy head of black hair over his sacred arrow tattoo. In the time from their departure from Masabi and their few weeks in the Aurora Tribe, it had grown considerably, and was now dropping well past his ears.

It was getting in Aang's eyes as he took Toph's hand, leading her slowly down the winding paths from the high bridge, careful on the ice. Morning light was beginning to break upon the Northern Aurora Tribe, reflecting off glaciers brighter than any glass mirror; but there were dark, heavy clouds rushing in from the south, and Aang knew there would be snow soon.

He took Toph down to the stables in the lower levels of the city, where they were keeping Appa and Momo. Aang's staff, along with a few of his travel belongings (armor he had saved from Acchai, some currency from the Union, and other such things) had been stowed there for safe keeping. He was also hoping to swing by the very early market stalls, and get them food for their journey. To do this before dawn fully broke, Aang knew he would have to work quickly, while still being mindful of Toph's increased incapability on the ice.

"Toph, we needs ta' be gettin' down ta' the market, see's if'n they got some food we can grab right quick -"

"You get me down there, and I'll take care of it, Aang," said Toph, and for the first time that night there was that familiar, confident laughter in her voice. "The market vendors always end up giving me food free. You know, me being blind and all."

Aang felt a smile spread across his face as Toph told him this. Leading the earthbender around a corner towards the market stands (only a few of them were selling this early, so there would be slim pickings; but it was better that they not wait for the larger vendors to open) he outright laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" but there was a smile on Toph's face beneath the niqab.

"I'm fair sure there's more reason fo' it than tha'," Aang confided in her, and as he said this he drew her in closer, running his thumb across the back of his hand. Her misted eyes grew bright, and even without seeing Aang knew her cheeks flushed.

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, y'know, Toph - most 'em vendors is 'ard young guys. Jus' sayin' - they on'y givin' free eats to the pretty girls," and he squeezed her hand as he said it.

"Then I'll take it as a complement, twinkletoes," she was clearly blushing, flattered; she even giggled, which drove the Avatar wild.

"Y'should," and Aang couldn't resist anymore; he wrapped his arm quickly around her slender waist and kissed her briefly on the forehead.

They gathered up a few supplies, with Toph leading the way (she did get most of it free, aside from a very bitter-looking older woman who demanded five crescent pieces for loaf of her bread, a rathe routrageous price). They were close to the stables and the docks at that point, so Aang cut through a few back alleys to lead them to Appa's location. The stables were the only few wooden buildings in all the Aurora Tribe, so they were not particularly difficult to find - and even though it wasn't earth that Toph stood on inside, it was a relief from the layers of ice and snow.

Momo leapt to Aang's shoulder when they entered, chirping ecstatically as he did so. Upon seeing the lemur happy and in good health, a rush of joy went through the airbender. But there was really not much time for reunion, despite the lemur's excitement; Aang went directly to the storage closets to locate his missing things, leaving Toph beside a sleeping, still bandaged Appa.

"Aight, Toph, I'm a needs ya' to 'elp me," Aang said, handing over the bag of market-food to her as he dragged his own satchels out from the closet. As he threw them over his shoulders, Toph felt blindly up Appa's side for the strap of his leather saddle. When she felt only smooth, deep fur, she returned her focus to Aang.

"Where's Appa's saddle?" she asked quietly. She knew they would be stealing the bison, even though everyone considered him property of the airbender. Aang took her hand as Momo bundled up beneath his shirt, preparing for the cold, and led her from the barn.

"We ain't takin' Appa," and a deep, fierce pain resounded in the depths of Aang as he looked upon the still-wounded bison. "The... the healers says 'e got brok'n bones still. His two legs, there. Nah - we gonna take Cap'n Chong's ship out, soon's we can. 'Fore the oth'rs wake."

"You know, you kind of seem like you've done this before," Toph said, and there was excitement and admiration in her voice. It left a smile on Aang's face, and he couldn't help, for a moment, relaying his own experience with avoiding notice.

"Hell... y'know, bein' airbender an' all, gotta sneak lott'a things - with people not noticin' much. I've stole my way out ta' more'n place in me life, see."

The docks were just on the outskirts of the Aurora Tribe's massive, defensive outer wall. A slim pathway had been cut away along one side during the Tribe's long-standing era of peace, for the use of citizens to reach merchant ships. Several distant vessels had arrived during the course of the late night, and were already busy unloading their cargo: wood, wheat, coal, plattery, fruits and vegetables, hay, fur, leather, and some more precious materials; diamonds for Yue's Altar, rare herbs for the Chiefs. Some had live cargo, everything from pig-chickens to antelope-cows; others, however, seemed to carry only refugees and nothing else. The amount of people swarming the docks was unbelievable, and it bothered Aang deep down in his heart. More evidence thrown in his face about the destructive state of the world, his failure as Avatar.

"Look's like a lot'a ships jus' got in," Aang noticed. And truly, this was the only place the refugees could remain; the Tribe could not allow the people into the city without interviews, and there was a long line of people waiting before the ice-gate. Families with children, old grandparents, every variety and age and nationality assembled to enter the haven of the Tribe, safe in the ice-coated landscape of the North.

Aang had no way of knowing from where all the ships were bound. Refugees from _Nar'yan Mar_, seeking escape from the fires of war at the tope of the world.

He managed to get him and himself past most of the cold and frightened people with a bit of subtle airbending; a push here, a gust there, and he made it so neither he nor Toph got very lost in the crowd. Chong's ship was positioned at the very end of the dock, with Chong himself lounging lazily and sleepily against a dock-pole. Lily was on board making him breakfast, no doubt; the pair never seemed to leave their ship, more home on the wind-swept boat than on any form of land. Aang saw them and smiled, eager to be off. He knew Chong wouldn't ask many questions; he was a nomad like the airbender, and would do anything for the one and only Avatar.

It was Toph who felt it first, though she didn't realize she felt it. She hesitated as Aang led her along, and so Aang hesitated; and in a moment it was upon him too. A brooding cloud, a sinking, terrible feeling, a warning in the wind.

Standing upon the dock beneath the chilling sea breeze, was a tall, dark, motionless figure.

Toph had no way of knowing he was there, but Aang saw him, waiting in the morning mist. A light, sweet snow had just begun to fall from the graying sky.

Aang recognized the face, the shaggy drapes of dirty brown hair. The piece of grass tucked idly in the corner of his mouth, to drive off the hunger in his stomach.

"...Jet?" Aang stuttered. He felt a surge of relief, of remembrance - street fights in _Balda Haram, _running with a gang for the first time in his life, accepted and important instead of isolated.

"Jet? No fuckin' believin' it, Jet -!"

By the time Aang noticed the blank, inhuman look in his dark eyes, Jet had already drawn his swords and leapt.

The tiger-hook sword ripped across Aang's stomach. Toph screamed against the sound of flesh tearing, the biting ring of steel.


	13. Silence

Jet did not remember Aang anymore. He was too far gone for that; too far gone to hear the sound of Toph's cries, the shrieks of the other refugees as they ran from the docks.

"Aang! God -" Toph was helpless, she realized with a start. The airbender had fallen to her feet and she had practically thrown herself on top of him to shield him from that dark, blinding ring of blade. Aang grabbed her by her waist, trying to get her to stand, to move out of the path of the sword.

"Toph - fuckin' a' to hell -!"

Aang, still with the half-toppled Toph on top of him, kicked out towards Jet with one foot; it sent a ferocious gust stampeding towards the dark-eyed man, but Jet was ready, waiting, anxious for the fight. He tore one hooked blade into the wood of the dock and hung onto the hilt as the wind rushed past. Aang saw him tense and prepare to leap forward as the wind swept by, and in blind desperation - ignoring the gash on his chest, and the tangle of a fur-covered earthbender on top of him - he flipped over, smashing Toph roughly beneath him. She made a short, upsetting noise as he did so, unaware that he was shielding her with his own flesh.

Jet had pulled himself by the sword hooked in the dock and flown, it seemed, to a place above the airbender. His hooked blade was tearing through the air like a scream, ready to skewer the wretched Avatar where he lay, sprawled awkwardly and protectively across the blind girl.

Sheer, dumb luck, and a sailor who'd drank too much rum, saved them.

"YAAAAAH FUCKER -!"

Captain Chong brought his lute crashing down wildly over Jet's back, the frail instrument shattering from the force of the blow. Jet stumbled, momentarily, as the splinters fell, a long out-of-tune note echoing triumphantly in all their ears.

"Yeah! You watch it from now on, _chook_!"

Now, Chong was unintentionally courageous in this act, unintentionally heroic. He had no knowledge of the dark and powerful force of the man on the dock, of the empty soul and the singular will. Chong's victory lasted only a brief moment, until the seething, cold, terrible black eyes turned upon him, and the poor drunken sailor realized the monster he'd come up against. The captured, ice-froze fury in Jet's eyes sent a brief, but vicious wave of terror through the Captain.

"Aye... no hard feelings, Master, eh...?"

Jet's sword had already flown, and the side of Chong's face sliced open.

Lily screamed from the deck of the _Kuruk_; people at the other end of the dock turned a her shrill cry, sighting the man with the blood-streaked blades, and a panic ran through the crowd. People ran and yelled, stampeding to the gates of the Tribe, heedless of the gatemen beneath their shouts and wails and conf_fc_usion. Jet had already swung again and Chong, neither a fighter nor a bender, threw up his hands to shield himself. He saved his life in doing so, but sacrificed his right arm, as Jet's blade ripped it open, elbow to shoulder, in one clean, distinct, gory-red cut.

"Aye! Aye _fucker -_!" Aang leapt wildly from Toph, shouting desperately to draw Jet's attention. Jet needed no encouragement, and in a moment Aang was face-to-face with horror.

Gyatso had taught the Avatar to evade, and that was what Aang did now - employed every style and tactic and maneuver ever taught to him by the Master, every side-step and flip and twist and awkward position that saved him from the path of Jet's hooked blade. He kicked one blade away and ducked the other; he spun himself into the air only to have to block another blow descending from above. It was a fast, delicate, dangerous tap-dance that had the airbender leaping around all about the dock, feet touching ground for half-seconds, Jet coming at him like a whirlwind.

It was not a routine Aang could keep up, no matter how light he was on his feet; the gash on his chest, though stifled somewhat by the cold, was still bleeding beneath his furs, sapping him of strength. That, and Jet seemed possessed by some monstrous rage that was giving him more-than-human enthusiasm in his pursuit of the Avatar; if Jet had been a swift and deadly ghost in _Balda Haram_, he was an absolute wraith now, a force of nature, something genuinely powerful and horrifying. It bewildered and terrified Aang, leaping about like a fly before a spider, a lion, a demon.

Jet was too fast for Aang. He had always been too fast. Too rushed. Too merciless.

Toph crawled blindly on the dock. She heard the sounds of battle going on before her; the ring of steel and bite of wind, the heavy, solid footsteps of the unknown swordsman, and the light treading of the airbender. She tried to follow the battle with here ears, but without any earth beneath her, everything was muddled and distorted. She thought she heard metal slide again through flesh, and yelled.

"Aang! Get him, dammit - _get him_, kill the son of a _bitch -_!"

She distracted Aang. She distracted him enough to get an elbow in his face, the crunch of his nose breaking. He fell on his back, without breath to cry for pain, the sharp point of the tiger hook cutting down through the air as he fell.

An arrow embedded itself into Jet's shoulder. Jet tore it out in one quick motion, almost as soon as it entered. Aang even imagined he pulled it straight out of the air. Jet looked wildly about for the source, for the man swift and silent as a shadow.

Longshot took advantage of Jet's momentary confusion; he was between him and the airbender like a streak of light, and his elbow had made contact with his brother's stomach. Jet skidded down the dock, unable to quickly get his sword hooked back in the wood. There was a moment where Aang recognized the silent archer, the face he'd seen briefly, once, in _Balda Haram._

"Fuckin' hell - Longshot!? Wha' the fuck's goin' -?"

"Get on the ship!"

Longshot was not trying to protect the airbender. He was trying to get him out of the way. Jet roared, leapt, bowled Longshot down over the top of the airbender. Longshot kicked him in the stomach and sent him flying; he clawed his way back to earth with the tiger-hooks. Bloody nose and all, Aang had taken up a bewildered and enraged Toph, airbending himself towards the _Kuruk_. He went back once, beneath the protection of Longshot, to retrieve the wounded Captain.

Longshot's bow was drawn, loaded with a red-tipped arrow. His eyes were set and devoid of emotion, but not in the same sense as Jet's. For Jet was hollow because of the mindless thing Azula had made of him - and Longshot had forced himself to be hollow, forced himself to hate his brother.

But Jet did not even see Longshot.

Ever before Jet's eyes was the sight of Azula, her cruel and glorious golden eyes, the promise of blood and vengeance. She was the black-winged angel who'd raised him from obscurity and created a cold and sightless monster, her swift hand of fate. She was his goddess and his world; his flesh and his spirit; his passion and his rage. She had given him purpose, direction, and a cause - a cause he no longer remembered or cared for, being totally consumed with her, body and soul. There was little trace of the old Jet, the Jet of bloody streets in _Balda Haram _and drinks at the bar, the Jet who sided with Vica and slit throats beside Zuko. No, there was little trace left, hardly a glimmer; there was nothing in him now but her.

But Longshot was no better. For Longshot did not see his brother anymore, did not see the man he had known since childhood, since desperation and poverty. He saw Smellerbee sprawled upon a bed with a crooked leg; he saw cities in flames and pools of blood in the street. He saw a twisted and detestable monster of a thing, a man hollow and mindless, a man without memory or remorse. It had created a grief-stricken rage in Longshot, powerful and sorrowful and incurable, and it had, in its turn, made Longshot sightless. All mercy and thought to the salvation of Jet had fled from his mind, and there was no will in Longshot to save the dark-eyed man - only a will to destroy the wretched creature on the dock.

Jet's eyes were empty, angry, black as the Void. They mirrored Longshot's perfectly.

"Hello, brother."

Even Jet's voice was hollow.

Longshot roared and let the arrow fly. Jet sword's sliced through it, a shower of splinters trailing out behind him.

"Master Arrowhead, it seems you are not well-liked currently," said Chong humorously, but he was shaking beneath Lily's care and clutching his shattered lute. His arm was bleeding profusely, and his face was ripped open almost exactly from jaw to ear. Lily had brought him a bottle of rum while she tried to tend to his wounds, and he had already drained half the bottle.

"Chong, we fine -" although blood was pouring from Aang's nose and soaking the edge of Toph's fur coat, so that she began to wonder why her arm felt wet. "We jus', be needin' you ta' take us someplace, its -"

"Trying to give this man directions right now, young Avatar, would be like explaining spiritual enlightenment to a cockroach-fly."

Aang froze, staring at Pathik, who had emerged suddenly from below-deck.

The Guru looked, if possible, even more awkward than Toph in the bundled up furs. His long, wrinkled face glared at the Avatar in a terrible, stern, but otherwise unreadable way. Aang felt his stomach drop, and his cheeks get hot and red.

"'Ow...'ow'd you now an' all, Guru, Sa'...?" and then Aang realized with utter clarity that he was, in fact, _running away _- and that he had just been caught by a rather aged, but stern-faced holy man. The ancient man looked at him over the massive weight of his white beard, and knitted his great eyebrows together.

"Avatar, I don't mean to offend you - but right now I consider you the biggest idiot on the planet."

"...Hell, can't really argue wit ya' there 'bouts, Guru Sa'," Aang consented, and then suddenly Toph screamed:

"Ok, ladies, really? Let's get the fuck out of here! Fucking _please_?"

Pathik seemed startled at Toph's language, but Aang had to restrain a humored chuckle. The Guru cast one disapproving look at the blind girl, but quickly focused his attention back on Chong.

"Very well. Captain, is there anyone else who can steer the ship?"

Aang thought, for a tense second, that he'd heard wrong.

"Wai'...your goin'... you're not bringin' me back an' wha' -"

"Aye, yeah, Lily can," said the Captain blearily, interrupting the airbender. He tried to take another swig of rum, but missed his mouth completely, spilling it abruptly over his left shoulder. Lily grabbed the bottle from his weak hands, shaking at his bloody figure. "Right, Lily? You've done it afore. I've shown you how."

"Then miss, you must get your ship going! Set a course for the Ruin Mountains. Avatar, clean yourself up," and the Guru tossed him a white rag to clean his bloody face. Toph wiped anxiously at her wet shoulder, unknowingly. Lily did not move for a long moment, loathe to leave her husband's side; Chong had to encourage her.

Aang pressed the rag to his nose, but in a rush remembered the fight still in full force on the dock. Releasing Toph, so that she stumbled blindly into Chong (the Captain caught her, awkwardly, both of them looking ridiculous all covered in blood). Aang leaned over the side of the railing to see the two figures in fierce combat on the dock, arrows flying, swords slicing.

Aang did not know they were brothers. Had he, he might have found the scene all the more sickening. He might've tried harder to stop it.

Guru Pathik was loosing the ropes that held the _Kuruk _to the dock. He was an old man, and not experienced with a seaman's knotwork; by while Aang leaned over the railing he managed to undo three of the four that held the ship. The last was laced tight around a support pole, and he was having a difficult tim undoing the sailor's knots.

"Wai' - Wait! Longshot! Longshot, ova 'ere!" Aang called, trying to get Longshot on board and away from the deranged Jet.

Aang's shouting drew the attention of Jet again, who turned from Longshot's shooting and sped down the dock. The great ship was not yet loosed from harbor, and in moments Jet could be aboard the ship again, terrorizing airbender, earthbender, Guru, Captain and wife. Aang saw his approach and prepared to leap from the railing of the ship, prepared to meet him head-on, blood still oozing gently from his chest beneath the torn furs. He did not know of Jet's sudden change in attitude; but he had not known Jet long enough to be overwhelmed with it.

Longshot stopped the confrontation. But again, he did not do it for Aang.

His arrow screamed through the last rope holding the _Kuruk_ to the dock, and the ship jolted off into the icy current. Jet skidded to a stop at the end of the dock, the cold waters already bearing the ship away, Aang shouting desperately back towards the two of them.

Jet was not giving up. He turned and bolted towards another boat on the dock, to steal it, to follow the Avatar. He reached a smaller vessel with a wide sail that he could steer easily; he made to grab for the rope that held it fast, made to pursue Aang.

Another arrow implanted itself into the post, inches from Jet's hand. Jet turned, still cold, still cunning and enraged, to look back at Longshot.

"No. We finish this."

A crazed, genuinely insane smile corrupted Jet's face, deepened the dark hollows beneath his eyes.

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The Thief was dead, no match for the confused hellfire of Zuko. The firebender turned immediately back to the Spirit-Fox, unconcerned with the smoldering corpse.

"Myobu -"

But the Fox had trembled and collapsed onto the hexagon.

Zuko ran, skidded down to the spirit's side, hesitated over his still form. Then he pressed his ear to the Fox's side, listening for heartbeat, waiting for the feeling of an inhale.

The moments ticked by.

Zuko listened. He felt suddenly, impossibly, like he would die if Myobu died. He listened like he would stop breathing if he didn't hear it; he listened like he would break.

A single drumbeat, low as the whisper of a wingbeat, came from somewhere in the Fox, and Zuko's heart leapt. He raised his head and, rather rudely, began to shake the Fox roughly.

"Myobu - _Myobu_, I know you're alive, you crazy fucker! Wake up. Come one, wake _up_, you damned dog -"

But Myobu lay still. Even as he looked at him, he could see the Fox's brilliant red coat dimming. Fading. Drifting to a low, lifeless gray.

"Myobu, _come on_!" Zuko picked up the spirit's face in his hands and shook the beast, staring desperately into his half-lidded eyes. There was no fire left in them; just a thin, white film, like swamp mists, like death. His tongue was hanging lazily out of one side of his mouth, drool dripping down across Zuko's hand, and his breathe was ragged.

"Myobu, you _fucker_ - you have to tell me what to do! I can't save you if you lie there like a fucking piece of rabbit-shit!"

He shook the Fox again. One of Myobu's eyes blinked, but the other one seemed blank, empty, like he'd gone half-blind. His eerie, otherworldly voice did not speak, not a nerve of his body stirred. A silence and stillness like the crawling, creeping wood that held Yue captive.

Zuko stuttered, looked wildly around, briefly scanned the corpse of the Thief, then looked back at the dying Fox with the graying fur. Enraged, he yelled; he grabbed Myobu fiercely, roughly, and began to shake him again.

"Come on! Come _on!_"

Something in his blood stirred; the part of him that dealt fire, dealt warmth. As he held Myobu, he felt it moving beneath his skin, fighting, writhing, captured flame, begging sudden release through his healed fingertips. He hesitated, staring oddly at the graying Myobu, as the flame fought for escape - and too distraught, too confused, too desperate to do anything else, he gave in. The hexagon lit up like a matchstick; his hands erupted, spilt into a violent, blood-red flame.

"Wake the _FUCK up,_ Myobu!" he roared it straight into the spirit's face, and then let his fire enclose the beast.

A red beacon shown from the top of the black rock.

Zuko engulfed the Fox for a moment, in fire, in heat. Myobu was lost suddenly in it, a fly that had wandered into a blaze; it roared around him ferociously, terribly, an inferno on the hexagon, a funeral pyre. Zuko's face was bathed in blood red, brilliant red, cheeks flushed crimson; his golden eyes were like stars, small suns, and they were watering from the closeness of the heat. The fire seemed to leave his veins of its own accord, and the flames licked Myobu hungrily - but he was not consumed.

Myobu burned beneath Zuko's heat, but was not devoured in flame. A hint of red came back into his coat, a small sparkle in the spirit's eyes.

_Sheikh._

Zuko's fires went out with a rush, instantly extinguished by the sound of the Fox's voice.

Everything was dark atop the rock again.

"...Sheikh," Zuko repeated beneath into the black air.

He felt cold. Dead cold.

He ignored it, stooped instantly to the limp form of the Spirit-Fox, scooped up the great beast and swung him over either shoulder. The redness of Myobu's coat was completely washed away, and there were sly films of white pus coming from beneath his eyelids. He was drooling, tongue still hanging out, dead weight on Zuko's shoulders. But the firebender didn't care - he lugged the massive beast over to the side of the hexagon and began to descend down the long, precarious path that wound from the top of the black rock, his feet bare and raw on the stone, Myobu's heartbeat a world away.

Zuko walked carefully down the rock, tip-toeing gently by the tents, hanging in the shadows around the campfires. With the bulky form of Myobu slung across his shoudlers it was far more difficult to maneuver, but the cover of darkness (and granted, the inattentiveness of the Thieves, who had grown slightly over-confident during their years of rule in the Desert) gave him an advantage. There were no steps on the rock, and hardly a carven footpath, for the Thieves were very skilled at navigating terrain and lacked a need for them. Zuko, well-balanced and alert, nonetheless had frustratingly slow goings on many parts of the descent, and one or two close calls with a passing, sleepy-eyed Thief.

When he reached the bottom of the great structure - some forty-five minutes later, no doubt - he laid the Spirit-Fox gently in the cold sand in the shadows of the rock. The tent of the _Sheikh _was not far off, tall and golden in the black night. Zuko, loathe to abandon Myobu but having no other choice, crept towards the tent, toward the closest guard. Only a dozen or so around the _Sheikh_, but well-trained and venomous as vipers.

The man must have noticed the sound of Zuko's feet upon the sand, for her turned at his approach. There was a ring of steel as the guard drew his blade - a brief, brilliant glow followed it, as sudden and beautiful as a shooting star, and the man was on the ground. Another guard, a sandbender, saw the snuff of flame and immediately turned the earth around him to quicksand - to no use, though, for Zuko had already leapt, striking hard in the man's side with both feet, the high scream of cracking ribs.

He landed, but only for a moment; the tent of the _Sheikh _was too well-guarded, the Thieves eyes too cunning in the dark. Already another sandbender was behind him, and the earth beneath Zuko shifted, dragging him down; he kicked wildly, fought, roared, but it was no use. The sandbender sank him up to the waist in cold sand, immobilizing - yet when he attempted approach the firebender lashed out in jets of white-yellow fire, trying to ignite both the guard and the gold trappings of the tent. He burned the legs of the closest man and sent the clothing of another on fire - but for all else his wild lashings came to naught, as his hands were wrapped in sand and pulled down at his sides, pinned in the earth, and all in a matter of moments.

The feeling of being dragged, chest-high, through pounds and pounds of sand is not a pleasant feeling, and it heightened the crushing fury in Zuko's heart. They brought him before an irate _Sahib_, stirred as he was from sleep, his turban-mask gone, dark skin and dark eyes like a fallen warrior angel. The story was explained in a brief, trembling rush by one of the sandbenders as the Hundred Eyes glared fixedly at the firebender. There was a dim, weary, but ferocious tone in the man's powerful voice when he waved it away, saying:

"_Endea Sheikh_."

Zuko heard the word and felt hope flare in his chest - then terror - for Myobu lay abandoned and sprawled on the sand in the dark.

They took him into the gold tent. Past incense, past gold, past tables of meat and fruit and bread. Past stolen chests and necklaces and half-clothed women, draped in glittering shawls that one could see straight through. He viewed it all in only a moment, before being thrown at the feet of the _Sheikh_, before curling wisps of candle and incense smoke, before red pillows and blanket and two gnarled, black feet.

The old man stared at Zuko dimly. The _Sheikh_ was a toothless, red-gummed, half-blind man who had stolen more than his fair share of years, his face devoured by the expanse of a huge, bushy white beard and a red-cloth turban. His skin was black and polished as jet, flawed only by several large freckles on his wide cheeks, and the multiple layers of wrinkles; his gnarled, black hands were like aged tree roots, curled forever around his tiny, frail knees, hidden beneath his red dhoti. Tiny beads hung around his neck, alongside gold coins and jewels and other such trophies or treasures. He was bedecked and decorated like an altar, surrounded by candles and bowls of fruit, most of which were untouched. Singularly thin, skeleton-like, his cheeks were hollowed out, and his bony structure was hidden beneath red, crimson blood-red clothe, all crimson-red, all stained with blood.

Zuko would not have had much fear of this ageless man, save that he had a very long, curved white knife in his right hand, and he was using it to inspect the _mtwana _before him. He touched the blade to Zuko's neck, to make him move his head, but his hand was old and unsteady and he (whether unintentionally or intentionally) delivered a subtle cut to the firebender's throat.

"..._D__ahabu m__acho_?"

Zuko barely heard the words before the man yanked him by his long, sand-crusted black hair and brought him uncomfortably close to his wrinkled face.

The firebender stifled a cry of pain and remained motionless as the_ Sheikh_, for some ungodly reason, took to touching the majority of his revealed face. The grimy, unwashed hands of the old man wouldn't have been half so unpleasant if he didn't smell so strongly of body odor and rancid meat. Zuko didn't know what the old man as trying to accomplish, but he didn't much enjoy getting his nose and cheeks smushed around like he was rubbing his face on a window.

Finally, the _Sheikh _withdrew his hands, but his eyes did not leave Zuko. A sour look came over his face, cracked, pink lips pressed together as he stared quizzically at the firebender.

"Iroh?"

It was the last, most absurd thing Zuko had ever expected him to say.

He stared at the _Sheikh_, who stared at him, awaiting some answer from the slave. When Zuko did not respond, the man stared at him a while longer with his bleary, aged eyes. Then, in a more hopeful tone, he repeated the name.

"..._Irooooh_?" He drew it out this time in a comical way, as though he thought Zuko slow.

Zuko couldn't...think. _What the fuck_?

"....Iroh?" he repeated, as if it would help. The _Sheikh_ broke into a wide, toothless smile, released the firebender's head, and clapped his hands.

"_Eewaa_! Iroh! _Habari nzuri_!"

The old man seemed indescribably elated. He repeated Zuko's uncle's name, and then pointed at the firebender's face, saying something quickly alongside to _Sahib _in a delighted, enthusiastic way. Even with the man's thick, sausage finger pointing at Zuko's nose, Zuko noticed the face of the _Sahib _had grown to a frown, and he was glancing beneath the firebender and the _Sheikh_ as though one of them - or both of them - was about to get their head chopped off. Suddenly and acutely aware of his life on the line, Zuko's heart gave a dramatic. He saw Katara before his eyes and courage flowed through him.

"...Awaken Gui Xian!" he shouted suddenly, even though he was unsure if the man could even hear or understand him. "Awaken Gui Xian!"

The Sheikh stopped speaking to the Hundred Eyes, blinked, and stared. Rather disinterestedly, he turned away from the firebender and began to speak to the _Sahib _again_. _They spoke for awhile in the barbarian language Zuko did not know; still trapped, still kneeled and vulnerable before the Hundred Eyes, Zuko did his best to hide his fear.

"Come along, _mtwana_," was the snarl that yanked him to his feet. It was the _Sahib _who dragged him from the tent, the _Sheikh _getting up excitedly, if shakily, to his aged feet to follow. Zuko dragged by his arm by the _Sahib _past the gold and naked women, and noticing only the tone the words of the Hundred Eyes, crystal clear amidst the barbarian language.

_"_You.... you speak _Gev..._?" but Zuko's question went blissfully unanswered. The Hundred Eyes tossed him out of the gold tent and onto the burning cold sand_, _drawing his sword with a ring. A second passed where Zuko thought he would be slain, and his body tensed, bled fire, rushed and sparked like some captured flame was trying to escape him. The _Sahib _ignored the firebender's defensive stance, his hand slack on his blade.

"_Mtwana_, you are a descent of a friend of the _Sheikh_, and that is the only reason you re alive. But to keep your life form me, you must show you are the true messenger for the Awakening," _Sahib _seemed completely displeased at the existence of the firebender, and had a look to smite the miserable heir of Agni where he stood. Zuko swallowed, ran his fingers through the sand, glanced around for the still form of Myobu lying sprawled upon the earth.

A scream ran through his head. _A descent of a friend of the Sheikh. Iroh._

"...How must I show it?" Zuko kept his voice strong, to hide his fear. It came out cracked.

"You must make lightning."

And the _Sahib _glared at the firebender.

"...Lightning?" Zuko's heart nearly stopped. Only his sister could make a lightning. Only his father.

"Do it, _mtwana_," snapped the Hundred Eyes, and in his threat was death.

Zuko stood slowly on the sand. He swallowed. He tried to remember the words his uncle had told him about lightning. Something about balance, about power; something about chi, flowing, energy... Fuck, why couldn't he ever remember what his uncle had taught him?

Instead he attempted to mimic Azula. He posed himself, horse-stance, and began to move; the _Sheikh_ and the _Sahib_ watched in mounting delight and annoyance, respectively; the firebender called fire to his veins as he had a million times before, familiar, trusting.

But this time he pushed it. This time he delved for more power, more heat, more force. The fires in his body shuddered, condensed, cracked, jolted; nothing yet came from his fingers, but there were massive sparks glittering within his body, heating, blazing. Sweat broke out on Zuko's forehead and his skin grew red with heat; the inferno of his chi, the captured sun-fire he kept locked away, he released it all into the mass network of his veins and let it flow, liquid-hot, lava-like, amidst his blood. His body trembled from the heat, becoming flame, becoming a nova, a burst of hellfire. It blazed up into his brain and deluded him, his motions becoming all but mechanical, a copycat of his sister's inherent skill.

_Sahib _watched it all without expression. He could see the firebender's skin crawl with heat, his very body burning beneath his own heat. He saw him like a star - a star about to explode, a demon about to erupt with dark and hateful fire.

Zuko felt like his veins, his blood, his soul was on fire. His skin was burning up; his eyes went dry, red. Lava, liquid fire in his veins.

The _Sahib_ half-stood expectantly. Even in his eyes, as the eyes of the guard around him and the eager _Sheikh,_ there was expectation. The firebender shook, ground his teeth, smoked, seemed like he would rip himself apart.

Zuko felt like he contained the sun. It lived in him, burned in him, as he moved in that fluid motion; and when he could contain the sun no longer, he released it with a rush and a cry.

He flew back, burned from the effect of his rudimentary bending. Blindly, he managed an impressive explosion, sending him tumbling backwards into a number of unfortunate Thieves.

But no lightning.

The _Sheikh _threw back his great, old head and laughed a raspy, coughing, toothless laugh.

The firebender was on all fours, shaking weakly. Curling wisps of smoke were drifting from his form. _Sahib_, annoyed and exhausted, drew his straight blade, the blade that had slain countless men, the blade that could See a Thousand Things; he drew it an fancied he saw the death of the firebender within its polished metal.

The _Sheikh _shouted something, and the Hundred Eyes paused. Zuko looked up at the lethal, vicious, and moderately pissed off piece of Thief who's shadow loomed over him like some early doom, listening as the _Sheikh _shouted orders to him beneath his laughter. A terrible, furious gleam came across the Thief's face and, to Zuko's relief and his disappointment, the _Sahib _slammed his sword back into its sheath with a crushing ring.

With one hand, the Hundred Eyes grabbed the still shaking, weakened, smoking firebender and began to drag him ruffly towards the black rock.

"You have reached the _Sheikh_, _mtwana,_" the man said gruffly as Zuko stumbled. "He wills me to tell you my true name. It is Piandao. But I would rather you call me _Sahib_, lest I allow Gui Xian to devour you when he awakens."

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Toph was not in the room. Katara was torn, but she knew it was better this way - leaving without saying good-bye. It would be too painful, too difficult to hear the objections her dearest sister would arise - _how could you leave? You're running away? How could you be so selfish? Fuck, Katara - at least take me with you!_

She hated herself for leaving the earthbender here. Here, amidst a Tribe where she could see nothing, feeling nothing, do nothing. Toph was blind and useless here for the first time in her life, and there was no way to repair it. Katara knew she had been her sister's only comfort within the Tribe, and she tried to console herself with the idea that Sokka, or Suki, or Aang - maybe they could give by her shoulder to lean against? Her sister would hate her for this, be shattered because of this (Katara was the only one who knew, really, how delicate the earthbender's heart truly could be). Yet she had a mission, a message, a chance to do something for the dying and diseased, and she could not ignore it. Her heart burned with hope, with passion, with purpose for the first tim in a long time.

The waterbender, of course, was not aware of her sister's recent escape at the docks. Had she, very many things about her plans would have been altered. As it was, she was packing hastily, hoping to escape the room before her sister happened to return, of Suki or her brother arrived, or even someone like -

"Katara?"

The waterbender whipped around to see Kimba, standing in a doorway half-ajar, one hand bearing a tray of dried fruit and biscuits. She was staring at the hasty, messy packing job that lay on the bed; the niqabs half-crumpled, the few dried meats, the tinder and waterskin. It took Kimba half a moment to realize the scene before her, and Katara jumped to the offensive instantaneously.

"I'm going, Kimba," Katara breathed. "I'm going and you can't stop me."

This, in itself, was a bit of a lie. Kimba was a better waterbender than Katara at this point; she had had far more training, far more time with Master Pakku, and if it came down to dueling, the Acchain woman was sure to lose. But Katara was determined to put up a bold front, even if she wasn't so bold herself, and it showed in the way Kimba hesitated.

"What... what are you talking about?" she demanded, putting aside the food tray. She did not move from the doorway.

"I'm going. You can't stop me."

Katara tried to remain impassive, continue packing. But her hands were shaking now, as though her body as trying to demonstrate just how stupid and ridiculous this all was - and Kimba noticed, noticed her nervous, fumbling fingers as she packed, the guilt weighing on her shoulders. All against the desperate, hopeful, unrelenting blue fire that had suddenly erupted in her eyes.

"...No! You can't leave!" And now Kimba stepped into the room, still purposefully placing herself between the Acchain woman and the doorway, brown eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yes I can!" Katara's voice raised just a little, feeling backed into a corner, caught. "I have to. Don't try to stop me."

"Stop you? Do you know how far the Tribe is from other lands? You'll die on the sea by yourself!" Kimba roared at her.

"I'll be fine. I'll take Appa," her voice shook as she said it.

"The bison? His legs are still broken! And what - you think the Avatar would just let you steal him?"

Katara's heart shuddered and deflated. How could she have forgotten that? Appa couldn't fly, couldn't walk... but Kimba chose that moment to step towards her, and Katara's defense went up again.

"You can't understand Kimba! I have to go!" Katara grabbed her partially packed bag swiftly and swung it half-hazardly over one shoulder, but Kimba was still blocking her way.

"No! I can't let you -!"

Kimba grabbed for Katara's bag; what she intended to do with it once it was hers, Katara could not be sure, but she swiped for it back anyways. The two girls grappled over the bag for a moment, unable to bring themselves to more than a tug-of-war and a few pushes in the shoulder. Neither of them wanted to hurt the other, and no blows were thrown, but each one's grip on the bag was unshakably strong. They battled with their eyes, finally growing annoyed, and began to banter -

"Stop it, dammit! Its not yours -"

"You can't leave! Its suicide! You're an idiot if you think -"

"I can take care of myself! Get _off _my bag!"

"- you haven't learned anything! A few _weeks_ you've been with Master Pakku -"

"I said _get off -_!"

"- No! You're acting fucking -!"

"- Dammit,_ chuò, _Kimba -!" and Katara, and gave the bag one heroic _pull_ - Kimba went reeling slightly off her feet, and had to release the bag in order not to fall.

The feather leapt from the bag, as though fate had plucked it out. It drifted down to the floor in full view of the two waterbenders. Sparkling. Silent. Dangerous.

Katara stooped instantly to pick it up, expecting that Kimba would accidently step upon it. The feather was gleaming, unstained, perfectly and impossibly white. It looked like a star in Katara's dark hand.

Kimba did not reach for the bag again. She had frozen at the sight of that white, unreal feather, and retreated back a step.

"...Kimba?" Katara's voice shook. There was something distant, something horrible and wonderful and familiar in the girl's dark, Bear-Clan eyes.

Kimba lowered herself to sit at the bedside. Her dark face had gone pale, and one tense, delicate hand was pressed at her heart, wrinkling the fabric of her furs where the fingers clutched. She was still staring at the feather, and Katara - self-conscious of where her eyes were drawn, as well as protective of the sacred thing - closed her fingers around the soft object hesitantly. Silence sat for a moment; Kimba continued to stare at Katara's closed fist, the end of the feather peaking out beside her pinky.

"You saw the Owl."

Kimba said it like a woman deprived of breath; she said it like a ghost.

"I..." Katara did not know what to say. Bewildered, she watched as Kimba finally lifted her eyes to stare straight into Katara's, face half-shielded by the niqab.

"...What did it say to you?"

Katara hesitated, clutched the feather protectively.

"How... how do you -?"

Kimba's fingers drifted up to her paled, caramel-skinned neck. She took hold of the thin cord that hung there, and drew from her shirt the remains of an amulet; an aged silver coin beside a ruffled, bent, but still perfectly white feather.

Katara looked from her feather to Kimba's. There was no doubt, no room for error; they were two feathers of the same make, the same bird. Two identical owl feathers, one just older, more ruffled, a little bent. She felt her hands shake.

"What did it say to you?" Kimba repeated, and this time Katara, shocked and shaking but unable to resist from the sight of the twin featehrs, answered her in a halting tone.

"It told me to... to go to a jungle. To find a Serpent - a snake, a colored Serpent..."

"Nabau," Kimba breathed. Her hands were shaking gently at her sides, and she gripped the side of the bedsheet to steady them.

"Kimba..."

"I have a few maps in my room. Let me get them."

The girl was vanished and out the door in a moment. The ten minutes she remained gone seemed like an eternity

"Kimba, what are you doing?" she asked when the girl reappeared, her caramel skin flushed from running, her dark hair askew. She bore a great many scrolls and papers in her arms, some with a seal of a Chieftan - which led Katara to believe that many of these did not, in fact, belong to the waterbender.

"I am going to help you, Katara," she said in a rush, dumping the papers upon her bed, beside the still half-packed bag. She drew a piece of charcoal from a pocket in her furs and began to draw arrows, directions, upon one of the largest maps. There were other sketches on the map, too, marking things and places Katara had never heard of before.

"Kimba - why? What?" Katara grabbed the girl's shoulder so the waterbender could look at her. Kimba's eyes were full of fire and excitement, and a smile captured her face for a brief second.

"When I was young, I went with my mother once to the High Altar," she took Katara's hand and said it in a quick whisper, a secret she'd hidden away. "She was a healer, and left me before Yue to speak to a Dove. The Owl came to me, too, Katara; it spoke to me, first in the Ancient Tongue, and then in my own. It told me to wait. It told me to wait for the one who sought Nabau."

Katara's breath came out in a mist; the room was cold, as she'd long let the fire die. Hope flared in her chest like a beacon, and Kimba saw it ignite.

"So... it wasn't just.... I'm not -"

"- Crazy?" and something in the way Kimba said it made the Acchain woman fell completely at ease. "No, you're not. But we are very lucky. It is very rarely that the Owl speaks to anyone. I think you are the first one since I was spoken to."

"Mother Moon!" Katara cried, and for a moment lost herself, going to embrace Kimba. The idea of someone accompanying her on this odd, dangerous, guideless treck was a deep and immediate relief; the girls hugged for a second and then focused their attention on Kimba's maps, Kimba plotting out points she'd drawn with the charcoal.

"I made this route a long time ago," the Tribeswoman admitted, as she traced the lines on the page. "I think it is the quickest way to reach the jungle. It is the oldest and largest jungle in the world - if Nabau holds true to his legend, he should be there."

Katara followed the lines on the paper with her eyes. She saw them cross the North Ocean, split down a canyon that bordered the Empire, cross a sliver of the Derest, and then -

"We will go through Acchai," Katara breathed. Something ignited in her heart and flamed there, bright and brilliant and beautiful; the thought of seeing Zuko again, the thought of Acchai. The longing in her soul for the firebender, and her homeland, created a burning sensation in her chest that would not abate; child of the Aurora Tribe as she was, waterbender and healer, she could not deny the war-lands that had made her.

"Yes. A little across the Desert, too. Is that ok?" Kimba asked.

"...Yes. Yes it - it is ok," Katara half-stuttered. Kimba must have read the mad delight in her face, for a smile stole across hers.

"Do you think we'll cross paths with your Zuko?" she teased, nudging her in the shoulder. Katara laughed and nudged her back, trying to ignore the comment.

"Be serious, Kimba. Let's go quick, before the sun's full up."

But there was a sparkle in Katara's eyes. She felt like she could feel her heart beat again, for the first time in weeks.

The two girls, giggling to hide their fear and wonder, stole away to the docks.

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Suki awoke with that familiar, throbbing pain in the back of her head. She was accustomed to it, accustomed to the effects of the cactus-juice and the intensity of the Readings; Sokka, however, was not. The Prince lay sprawled, unconscious, stripped naked on the messed sheets and furs of Suki's bed, a very delightful smile lighting his face. Suki laughed quietly to herself, looking approvingly over his fine form; then her eyes turned towards the dying fire, towards the Seeing Stones abandoned on the floor.

Her heart froze as she examined the Reading.

Suki had seen ominous things within Readings before. She had seen suffering, deceit and turmoil; she had seen wars between Spirits and the shed of virgin blood; she had seen rape and murder and unjust death. She knew the signs to seek, the patterns within the chaos, the clues and codes. She had been trained by the_ isangoma_. She had been trained well.

But she could not believe the message in the Reading.

Gently, she left the bed, left Sokka's slumbering side, and crept across the floor to the scattered stones. Her hand shook as she reached for a bone, the deadliest part of the message; she tried to pick it up gently, but it was no use, no use trying to change the message in the Reading.

The sharpened edge of the white bone slit her finger open, red and raw as the heart-jewel, and she dropped it. Blood slid down her skin, across her open palm.

"...No."

The iced outer walls of the Tribe were studded now with streaks, with cuts, with scratches. Marks of blades and arrows.

Pieces of torn clothe were drifting in the white-frothed waters. Crates were shattered. Sails torn.

Arrows feathered wood and ice, black arrows against a background of white. It was a backwards image of some distant memory; an ember-ridden valley, still smoldering from war. Fires still burning in the distance. Black arrows against a background of red.

Splatters of blood were on the dock. On white walls.

On flesh.

"...So this is how it ends."

Something in Jet trembled. Writhed. Screamed.

He was dimly aware of the blood soaking his sleeve.

Longshot's blood.

The archer looked at him with distant, black eyes. They matched perfectly with Jet's.

Jet had entered the world crying. He had been a red-faced baby with a pathetic splotch of black hair on his head; he was not as chubby or round as a baby was apt to be, for his mother was a frail and sickly woman. But he had come into the world a fighter, a ferocious spirit, a beast; they even said he tried to kick the doctor when he was slapped.

Longshot had not entered the world crying. Not even when the doctor smacked him on his round, white bottom did the babe utter a sound; only his wide, open, constantly blinking eyes caused them to know he was living, and even then they suspected him to be an odd sort of boy. Longshot had entered the world in dignity, and in silence.

The archer slid, trail of blood on the wall, the wide, gory chasm in his stomach. He did not utter any of the choking, gagging, life-clinging sounds of the other people Jet had killed. He let blood slid down across his lips, across his fingers, across his legs and knees.

"To fall seven times."

it was the last thing Longshot ever said, and it was hollow. Meaningless.

Jet shook. He shook so violently he dropped the blood-drenched swords. He shook so violently he stumbled.

He shook at the way his brother looked at him. In blood. In pain. In silence.

And Longshot left the world as he had entered it.


	14. Longshot's Blood

Azula was filing her nails.

She had polished them blood-red, dyed a glowing orange in the reflection of the fire-filled sunset. She had relinquished her attire, her lavish dresses, her jewelry, her smooth satin; clothed only in a delicate crimson robe, tied with a gold cord, she looked slender and intoxicating in the late light, black hair free across her pale shoulders, eyes like soft rings of gold. She was relaxed, and poised, and unconcerned, sitting so quietly and easily in her chair. The room had a dark green rug that was singed in some areas, old stains of blood like puddles of poured wine. Most of the furnishings were ruined, tables splintered apart, curtains ripped, an ornate mirror smashed and thrown to the floor. Among the lingering chaos she sat alone, looking out a wall made of three massive, ceiling-high windows, all broken and shattered and lying in pieces at her feet. The orange light from the horizon reflected in glitters on the shards, illuminating her, a thousand miniature stars before her bare feet. It made her look gentle, innocent, alluring as the night fell; the only sound that betrayed her was the sharp, stinging sound of the file as it ran along the edge of her vicious nail.

She did not pause when Mai walked slowly into the room, imperceptible and empty as a ghost.

Azula was aware, and impassive. She knew what had taken place behind closed doors that night, and disregarded it. She had seen Zhanu creep through the desolate house they now abode in; their was little need for his guidance in the field now, as her army was spread far over the Union's borders under various terrified and loyal Captains. Azula was receiving delightful daily reports on the carnage at the front, and the destructive success of her rogue army. Zhanu, now, could fancy his focus to other things, quieter things, things that betrayed no fear or love, things that walked into rooms like ghosts.

It had, at first, been muffled sounds, debates. There had been one cry of protest from the heiress of Niraj, and one only.

Zhanu had taken her. Azula knew it as well as she knew the blue-curled fire in her veins, the soft curve of her sharp nails. There had been no ceremony, no subtilty; color had flushed to her cheeks, and the red hue against her white skin had poisoned him with desire.

"Zhanu finally get to you?"

It was a trick. Because Zhanu had crept through the desolate house, searching, yearning with all his eager and detestable desires, his secret fancies. Yet he had not found her, had not discovered the delights of his dark beauty. For - drawn, compelled, but for all the world devoid of longing, as mindless as water running inevitably to the sea - she had found him.

"I went to him. I wanted him," it had been meant to sound mechanical, but her voice shook. Even Azula could not distinguish it as desire, or regret, and bothered by this strange reaction, she stopped filing and lifted her nails to examine them in the dim light.

"Careful, Mai. Zhanu likes you the way you are. If you start to show any vulnerability... any weakness... well," and she raised the brazen tool to her fingers again to resume her work. "We may both lose interest in you."

Mai did not move. Her body was stiff, and her hair had only just been hastily bundled back into place. It was the first time she had ever looked vaguely unkept, less than the polished, cold perfection that she was comfortable with - and though she would not reveal it in her steps, in the way she moved, Azula knew one thing more.

Mai was sore. Sore where his hands had grabbed her, leaving those flowering, purple and blue stains on her white skin; sore were his lips had crushed against hers, regardless of force, animalistic; sore and bruised along the insides of her thighs, in her soft and secret spaces.

"...He took more than I offered," she said after a long while.

"That's better to hear," a very sharp, piercing smile curved at the edge of her lip. "Somewhat a shame, though... having you as an in-law would have been charming. Still - Zhanu is a fine runner-up."

"Your brother was never of my rank," Mai said it coldly, disdainfully, and her eyes were unreadable again.

"Neither was I. How do you explain us now?"

The heiress of Niraj chanced a side glance at the firebender, but did not move. A silent and agitated flame burned inside Mai because of the strength that dwelled within Azula; it was a power unfit for someone of her class, someone in the lower orders. How she had been blessed with such a wicked tongue and deadly flame surpassed Mai's ability to comprehend, knowing only that this woman - this woman of Agni, this fire-breather - was somehow upsetting, changing the laws of the world. Her agitation would need to be short-lived. She could remain obedient to this woman as long as it suited her, as long as it kept her safely above the laws that she had been molded from. She had no other desire than this, to remain as she was: cold, powerful, beautiful, and absolutely desired. An ice goddess.

"There was nothing I could gain from Zuko," she said it in a bored, disconnected tone. "Zhanu is harsh, but he is powerful. He is worthy."

"And what if my brother became worthy?" Azula was toying with the idea more than actually considering it. Often now Acchai entered her thought, entertained her in some strange way, but she still could not lend enough credit to her

Mai stared out the broken windows for a long time. The affections of Zuko had never gone unnoticed upon her - such a thing was impossible, as the rapt adoration of the firebender had been a constant reality from her childhood. She had never, of course, overly entertained the idea of any serious courtship with the man. The impropriety of it was plain; Zuko had been expelled from his house at thirteen, and was as desolate as any serf that used to labor at her father's estate. Her heart had felt for him, of course. Felt for him in the way she felt for the sick, or the poor, felt for him with pity - because truly, how could the poor man resist her? She had poured much into the iced perfection of her graces, into the stunning, queenlike aura of her beauty. She knew of the men who longed for her, had seen the way their eyes followed her in the street. She was their pagan goddess, so much colder and refined than the demonic fire that was Azula, but no less potent. How could Zuko resist her? At least she had given him some comfort in her attentions. At least she had shown him affection enough. She had shown him such great courtesy, such respect, in pretending to consider him.

"Your brother will never be worthy. Of that I will always be certain," she said at last. Azula's wicked smile was beautiful. Enchanting.

"You give the perfect answers, Mai of Niraj. Now awaken your lover and bring him down, will you?"

Azula stood from her chair, slipped the nail file into her pocket. She walked through the broken glass towards the door without looking down, without once cutting her bare feet.

Mai did as she was instructed. She drifted to the room where Zhanu slept, still, mustering every fiber of her being to remain calm, and cold, and collected. She found, however, that when she came to the doorway of the bedchamber, she could not enter.

"Azula requests us."

The room was dark and dim, and she could see his figure move in the sheets. She did not wait for him to rise and dress; she followed after Azula's shadow without even hearing his response, reminded vividly, suddenly, unhappily of the soreness in her body.

Azula was waiting for her down a long, beautiful flight of steps. The house was old and large, and would have been pleasantly beautiful if not for the havoc Azula's amy had wreaked upon it; it had once belonged to a noble family of Tsi-Nau, and a fairly decent one, actually, with a pleasant four-year old daughter and well-treated servants. After refusing to join in Azula's campaign, the earthbending family was slaughtered by Azula's forces, another couple casualties on their ceaseless sweep across the city. Azula herself was waiting quietly, if impatiently, before the doorway to one of the house's great parlors. The windows had been bordered up and the door was locked, and barred, and burned.

Zhanu drifted down the steps a few moments later. His eyes sought immediately for Mai, for what reaction she would have to him now, after he had inspired such terrible passions and fears in her - left her sore, bruised, torn. But she remained cool, and calm, staring lazily at the barred door with unreadable eyes. The demon in Zhanu writhed, desired to terrify her again.

"Zhanu, I'd enjoy if your father and my father became reacquainted. Could you see to it?" Azula put off the confrontation between the new lovers. Between the rapist and the willing victim.

She entered with Mai, as Zhanu's insides flared with triumph, with the knowledge that he possessed the ice-goddess, and left to seek his father. The room was dark but mostly in tact; this parlor had not seen Azula's forces, the death of a four-year-old. Most of the furniture remained whole and unbroken, having been pushed up against the walls, against the boarded windows which shut out the orange sunset. Only one piece of furnishing remained in the midst of the room; a velvet-lined, red-oak chair, flawless and polished and perfect.

The only sounds that came from the room was the haunting call of wind whistling through cracks in the walls, and the low, ragged breathing that resembled a ghosts feigned attempt at life. It was music to Azula, and hell's chorus to Mai as she shut the door behind them.

There was an unconscious man hanging upside down from the ceiling. His long, gray hair was ratty and matted and crusted against his face, against the bruised and swollen skin. He was stripped to his waist and decorated with a wide and impressive variety of wounds, of varying ages and kinds, cuts and bruises and burns and the occasional whiplash; he looked as though he had been tortured for some time, his wrists hanging down towards the floor, chaffed from iron cuffs, one shoulder joint hanging slightly out of socket. His right eyes was swollen and crusted shut, his torso a canvas of blue and purple, scarred randomly and suddenly great, white-hot knives, half-healed and was a puddle of drying blood beneath him on the stone floor, and two broken teeth. White stars in a red sea.

"Cut him down," Azula sat lightly in the velvet-lined, red-oak chair.

Mai's dagger flashed, and the man fell hard to the floor. Had the fall been greater and the floor less softened with carpet, his neck would have broken from the angle of his descent; as it was, he only fell with a rattling groan, a strained and inhuman sound. The man had been arrested and tortured for inciting rebellion amongst Azula's troops, for acquiring tactical information for the side of the Chosen King. For trying to stop her unholy crusade, her conquest.

Her destiny.

"I'm terribly sorry father couldn't be here, Uncle. He's got such a terrible cough, you know."

The man did not move. He remained lying on the floor before his neice, uttering one groan. Azula seemed to take this as a question.

"Oh - it was the coal mines he used to work in, in his younger days. You remember? No? Oh, no - you were off traveling, I think. You often were, weren't you?"

Iroh shifted on the ground, rolled onto his side so he could look at his niece. Even with one eye swollen nearly shut, he could see the picture of her sitting in the half-dark; her frame shaped by the crimson robe with the gold cord, as though she was at home after supper, readying for a bath, relaxing. As though she had no care or thought for the ruined house she stood in, the fires still burning in the streets, the war, the slaughtered four-year-old. Her black hair - the same as Ursa's beautiful, sleek black hair - trailing down across her young shoulder, and her deceptive golden eyes. Filled with innocence, with patience, with rage, with passion, with lies. It made him sick, made him mindful of the own wretched evil that dwelled in the blood of their family, the twisted destinies and dooms. It made him sick, the gorgeous, angelic curve of her red lips as she smiled at him, marred by her white, white teeth, like fangs.

"Oh Uncle, you used to talk so much back home. Such wonderful stories. I miss it, you know..."

Her tone was mocking. Cruel.

Iroh remained still and silent, cold eyes staring at his wicked neice. It was all he could do, to sit and stare and wait.

Dried blood in the spaces between his teeth. In the gap.

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Jet paced down the dock, his boots heavy and echoing against the frozen planks. The Tribesmen had found Longshot's body and carried him away, still and bloody and lifeless. He kept to the shadows and tried to ignore the pounding in his skull, in his chest, in every fiber of his being. Something gone so horribly and terribly wrong, drowned in the honey and venom of crimson lips, gold eyes, lies. Jet's body shook. He made a misstep, wavered on the ice a moment, trembled where he stopped and stood. He tried to piece back together the fragments of his mind, tried to recall some form of himself that was not consumed with Azula, with fire and passion and blood.

He saw them in his hands, fragments of his broken mind, pieces glowing red in the light of the rising sun. Glowing too red against his skin, scattered pieces. Red like the life he'd drawn from Longshot, from now-empty veins. He stared blindly at the fragments and, distraught, frustrated, shaking, forced his hands together. Tried to make them fit back the way they once had.

He only clapped, echoed coldly in the ice-coated lane.

The pieces wouldn't fit anymore.

He panicked, did it again, clapped again. The pieces still weren't fitting. Desperate, threatening to break for the first time, Jet's face fell into an expression of panicked despair and he began to wildly, repeatedly, violently clap his hands together, to try and make the pieces fit. He whimpered, tears in his eyes, tiny drops of still-wet blood springing from his hands onto the white ground. His clapping became loud, forced, filling up the lane - his own terrible, mocking applause as his brother's body was carted away.

_You are my warrior._

He froze, hands poised halfway to clap again. He felt Azula filling his broken mind, felt her sowing the pieces back together with iron-hot needles, with hatred and blood. She would be furious at his failure to kill the Avatar. She would become a wraith of vengeance, cursing and screaming and scaring the side of his face with her perfect, lethal, vicious nails. Bloody, parallel cuts in his cheek with red nail polish left in the wounds.

And something in the thought made him go still again. Reclaimed the crooked pieces of his mind.

It was then he heard Kimba shout:

"Hahn! Get off of me - !"

There were sounds of struggle, of strife. Jet was so used to those sounds he often dreamed about them.

He crept through the lane toward the source of the noise, steps silent and light now instead of his previous, heavy trod. He found his way to a dawn-lit lane where the forms of two people - one female, one male, if he guessed rightly at their shapes beneath the furs - were trapped in argument. The male had his hand clasped firmly, painfully firmly, on the wrist of the girl.

"Where do you think you're _going_?" he spat at her. The sound was like a wolf-bat's snarl in Jet's ears.

"Away from you! Get _off_!"

"You little bitch. You can't run from me. We're _promised _–"

The man seemed unimportant, but something about the girl pulled at Jet's memory. Tortured and crazed and unable to discern the reality playing out before him, he imagined he was in_ Balda Haram_. He imagined, suddenly, that Longshot and Smellerbee and Zuko were there, weaving their way through earthbender recruits, the ground muddy and slick from rain. He saw Kimba's deep brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, her breasts swelled beneath the furs, the brown coloring of her eyes. He was reminded of... of something deep, and painful, and beautiful... of... reminded of...

Jin.

Hahn was blindsided, his shoulder torn open to the bone, butchered by Jet's hooks. Before he could utter a cry, before he could even fully release the screaming Kimba, the sword was hooked in his shoulder, throwing him back into the iced lane. Blood followed him like a trail as he skidded away, Jet placing himself silently, confusedly, between the Prince of the Eel Clan and the waterbender.

Hahn howled in pain, in terror, a hollow and empty howl that belonged only to the throat of cowards and rats. Trembling, forgetting any desire he had for Kimba, he staggered up and fled from the monstrous figure of Jet, howling as he went. Jet watched him go, felt the desire to pursue, to hunt, to get blood for his blades -

He was stopped by her hand on his arm.

"Thank you," she breathed. The hollowness of Jet's eyes did not escape her, but she was too flustered from Hahn's assault to let it truly frighten her. Jet only stared at the girl, stared emptily and furiously.

She was not Jin.

"Who... who are you?"

Jet stared at her and did not answer. He could see her eyes trying not to stray to his red-lined blades, to the torn, bloody state of his clothing. Longshot's blood. She swallowed, he saw, tried to convince herself that this man was good, despite his state - that he had, after all, just saved her. Give him a chance. A second chance to turn you into a devil.

"...You're not from here, are you?" she said.

_Jet of Hu Shin. Son of a miller. The truth, about..._

Like pieces of orange-colored glass before bare feet. Like a dam breaking, exploding, water rushing... like things forgotten.

Katara was loading a small fishing boat that belonged to a friend of Kimba's father. She had asked him, kindly and sweetly, to take it out for an early-morning training session with Katara, who was behind in their class. He had consented, and rightly so; Kimba was a good girl who never got into trouble much, who's mother had died, honorably, by struggling to save the souls in the Black Lane. He warned them to stay off the south currents and stay close to the port, but Kimba had already run off in haste.

They had only what necessities they could bear, as they would need to propel the boat for most of the trip using their waterbending. It would be a dangerous journey to land beyond the Northern Waste, and even more treacherous in skirting the Empire and reaching the Desert and Acchai. But Katara's heart was beating so loudly in her ears at the thought of being reunited - _reunited - _with Zuko that everything else seemed dim and unimportant. A million thought rushed through her skull and each of them was more incredulous, or womanly, or ridiculous than the last: _What will he do when he sees me? What should I do? Would he want me to kiss him? Will he be happy? Will he remember me? _

And then, the worst question would always surface, and she'd have to focus on packing again: _Will he still want me?_

So, when Kimba finally arrived, Katara was eager an impatient to leave. And when she saw the tall, dark, slumped, brooding, wide-eyed, red-soaked man following at her heels, her heart sank to the bottom of her feet.

"Kimba... who's, um..." something about Jet made Katara's stomach move unpleasantly, made her hands shake a little. Unlike Kimba, Katara had seen madmen before, driven wild by the war-lands and the heat of Acchai. Yet Jet's madness was a different kind than she was accustomed, and she could not at once place why she feared him so. Aside, of course, from the bloody clothing and the hooked swords.

"This man - I think he should come with us," Kimba said, hesitantly. Katara opened her mouth, to laugh beneath the niqab, but suddenly saw the hollowness in Jet's eyes.

"Ha - _What_?" Katara stared wildly at the dark-haired girl, and found herself getting a nauseous, creeping feeling in her stomach. "What the _hell _is in your head? We can't afford fucking _passengers_!"

"Please, just listen, he saved me from – from that _fucking_ Eel, Hahn," Kimba mumbled furiously at the Acchain woman. "I'd be raped and beaten right now if not for him. Look, Katara, he's not a Tribesman – he might be Acchain, and we could -"

"What if he's not?!" Katara screeched, before realizing the dark-haired man was beside them. "I'm - I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry but you need to go back to - to wherever you came from -"

"I'll protect you. I know how to get through to Acchai. I don't need any payment. I don't eat much."

It came from some distant part of Jet, some part of him that was saturated with the cunning ingenuity of Azula. The sound of his voice was powerful, terrifying.

Katara was shocked by it and looked warily at him, but the swordsman could see the wheels turning in her head, trying to envision him as rescuing the distraught Kimba. There were still stains of blood on his shirt and forearms. Longshot's blood. Jet found himself repeating it, over and over, in his head. Longshot's blood.

Longshot's blood.

For a long while Katara locked eyes with Kimba. They communicated in silence, in those secret, subtle ways that often baffled men.

"...You saved Kimba?" Katara finally asked.

Jet nodded. He dare not speak again, for fear of the terror the sound of his voice would bring them.

Katara restrained the need to sigh. Restrained the need to refuse.

"...You saved Kimba..." she repeated to herself, and reached out to take the girl's hand, firmly, as she stepped into the boat.

Jet stepped onto the boat with them, struggling to keep composure. He wanted to clap again. To try and force the pieces back together.

_Longshot's blood._

From somewhere in the back of his mind, in a forgotten corner, Jet saw a boy trapped in a closet. He was scraped, and burned across his left hand, and there was a massive helmet on his seven-year-old head. He was scribbling furiously on a torn piece of parchment.

…_tink Long Shot is ded. He on the floor, Smellr Be crys... _


	15. Gui Xian and the Mark

The Hundred Eyes had the great, black rock evacuated. The Thieves' wives and children scrapped together all they could in their hasty retreat from the rock, aware of the Awakening and the danger it carried. They had been a secluded and protected nation, the Thieves of Gihad; cornered away in the edges of the red Desert, they had preserved more of the Old World in ways not even Acchai, nor the depths of the jungle, could preserve. Kyoshi had been swept beneath the flood and the Library buried; only ruins remained where the air nomads dwelt. But here, in the oasis of the Desert, shielded by the sleeping rock, they had preserved the old ways. The Thieves of Gihad remembered the cry of the Nian, and the voice of the Black Warrior.

And now a slave had come claiming the Awakening, supposed kin of _Nondo Mchwa_, of the Sun Walker, of the _Sheikh_'s old soldier, Iroh. It was a development that irritated Piandao to every considerable end, for the man seemed hardly of the same blood as the famed firebender. He had the lingering air of a Union man about him which bothered the Thief of Gihad, the thin lips, the rough jaw, the overly-intelligent eyes; all of it, born and bred character of a Union citizen. But there were other aspects that encroached upon these, aspects uniquely and terribly Acchain – thin lips curved into a scowl, white teeth bared like a cornered tiger-stallion; jaw hidden beneath the dark and scruffed edges of that distinctly Acchain beard; and then the overpowering, all-consuming fire in the gold rims of his eyes, ferocious and barbaric. It was a terrible and imposing mix, the intelligence and savagery intertwined, and it made him possibly the most formidable man Piandao was ever likely to meet. This annoyed the Hundred Eyes endlessly, until the slave was able to prove his worth once and for all.

While the black rock was evacuated, the _Sahib _had the slave's belongings brought before him. There was no protest from the other Thieves; few dared defy an order of the Hundred Eyes, let alone one that affected the Awakening. They laid all of Zuko's claimed items at the feet of the _Sahib – _his saddlebags (long emptied of food) his saddle and reins, blankets, clothing, boots, his brown leather and red-metal armor, his twin blades, his painstakingly acquired black-panther cloak. The last thing to be tossed to the pile was the white-bladed knife Zuko kept in his boot – the knife his Uncle had given him. The knife that had once belonged to Lu Ten.

The _Sheikh _gave an excited cry when this item was thrown into the pile. Intrigued, Piandao inspected it; in surprise he found letters engraved in the side, not of _Gev _or of a Union tongue – but in a barbaric language, one used in the lands of Acchai. Knowing the knife had been a possession of the Sun Walker, the Hundred Eyes swathed the blade with a rag and brought it before Zuko, still kneeling pitifully in the sand.

"This knife. What does it say along the other side, kin of the Dragon?"

Zuko had to tear his eyes away from where he stared at the dreadful, still, grey form of Myobu's body. From were he knelt, Piandao was a tower, a mountain, a man reaching to the heavens. But Zuko only had to see the polished black hilt of the knife, only had to remember his Uncle holding it tightly at the funeral of his murdered son.

"Never give up without a fight."

Lu Ten had told him that, once. Long ago.

Piandao sniffed in mild acceptance and spat on the ground, turning back towards the pile and the face of the black rock. Thieves were gathering all around, crowds, hoards, to see the Awakening; men in rags, Shifters without their blades, bloodbenders marked with their red clothing. Wives swathed in niqabs as Katara and Toph were hidden away, children barefoot and babbling in the Thief's tongue, clinging to their saris.

And passing the form of the kneeling firebender, a man with sin-black eyes. With a blue gem necklace still tied to his wrist.

He half-smiled at the Zuko, mockingly, and drifted in with the rest of the Thieves.

In that moment, a beast was born in Zuko. A terrible, trembling, snarling, wrathful beast.

The _Sahib_, meanwhile, had acquired a large, round drum, hung with charms and bones and sacred objects, its sides tan and worn. It was an ancient thing, a blessed thing, something their ancestors had kept safe and secret through all wars and raids of the Desert. It was a drum made by the ancestor of the _isangoma _that had so terrified Sokka in the jungle-swamp. A drum containing the heart of a spirit.

Zuko was made to stay still between two rough, but uncomfortable-looking sandbenders. Zuko, however, was lost in the rapid developments of the night, adn too busy plotting his vengeance on the black-eyed man to attempt an escape. Piandao seemed to know this, as he was want to know such things, being of the Hundred Eyes; he strapped on the old drum, the drum made by the _isangoma_, the drum containing the heart of a spirit. The Thieves had gathered to the base of the rock to hear the drum sound, to witness the Awakening, and Zuko was astounded at their numbers. They were a sea of people swathed in dirt-colored clothe, thousands strong even without counting the women and children; they seemed a single people, a form, the movements in the midst like blood running through the veins of some great, formidable body. Zuko had never seen so many people before, not even at the yearly festivals in _Balda Haram _when the shops closed, and the gates of the city opened to gypsies, and all people gathered for games and fireworks and fights. Awed by the multitude that lay nestled and hidden on the edge of the red desert, Zuko did not even hear when Piandao began to play the drum.

The people, however, had their eyes fixed on the _Sahib. _His pace began slow, his eyes closed, testing for the sound of the heart in the drum. He was beckoning the spirit awake, moving it to rise and fall and stir the soul of the Black Warrior. Zuko looked up in time to see him catch the scent, the feel of the spirit of the drum, and to let it overtake him. Zuko saw it as though the _Sahib_ was being submerged, delving deep underwater into the dangerous currents of the world beyond the veil.

"Suki..."

Sokka, still groggy, still hung over, crept from the fur-lined bed. The fire had died down to a cold smolder, and the room was freezing again. He wanted Suki's warm, golden body back beside him beneath the sheets, wanted her to distract him from the horrible ache in his skull.

Suki was still seated before the scattered Reading.

"...Suki..." Sokka said again, taking himself down to the floor. He must have noticed there was something off, something not right with the posture of the Kyoshi-Shaman. He crept hesitantly to her side and found her staring, wide-eyed, at the message in the Reading.

"Suki, what is it?" Sokka breathed, touched her arm. The Kyoshi-Shaman made absolutely no reaction to his advance; nothing but to slowly, so painfully slowly, lift her eyes from the Reading; completely still, save for the movement of her head, she turned just as slowly to face the Prince.

There were circles under her eyes, dark and desperate circles, red lines of tears on her cheek. And the empty, fated look in her eyes made Sokka feel the way he had during the caravan, when the bloodbender controlled him - numb, and cold, with the life being torn slowly from his body.

"Sokka," her voice was cracking. "Sokka... it's a mirror, Sokka... it's all..."

Then her eyes rolled back into her head.

The spirit of the drum had possessed Piandao.

He cried out, opened his eyes wide, stared in the direction of the black rock, slammed the drum. He turned and twisted and moved like a sand-cat, like some wild thing, fluid and powerful and deadly. His footsteps were heavy, rhythmic in the sand, leaving deep imprints in circles, footprints trailing out around him. The heavy drum strapped around his waist sang beneath his hands, the echoes of mountains, of the dark deeps of the oceans that the Desert people never saw. And when he opened his mouth, a voice came out that was too raw and deep to belong to him, even a man as powerful as the _Sahib; _it echoed and roared like the chasm of the Void, like the songs played before Time.

_"Jaya shiva shankara Sheh-shan-ka-sheh-kara Jaya shiva shankara Sheh-shan-ka-sheh-kara_

_Hara-bom', Hara-bom' Bom'-Bom'-Bolo Hara-bom', Hara-bom' Bom'-Bom' Bolo_

_Dim-y, dim-y, dim-y_

_Taka-nah-ton-a-kela"_

And suddenly, in a swift and terrible motion, Piandao swung the drum around and drew Iroh's knife, cutting a long gash into his palm.

_"...Dim-y....dim-y..._"

Blood dripped onto the sand. Zuko caught the only glimpse of the eyes of the _Sahib_; they were white as snow, rolled into the back of his head.

There was no sound in the Desert. Not even the vultures seemed brave enough to call, not eve the youngest children dared to breathe. No babe wept, no voice lifted above the silence. Piandao had his bloody hand suspended above his head, white eyes like snow, like ghosts, and his body was shaking violently, wracked with the callings of the Spirit World. Zuko tore his eyes again from the _Sahib, _looked again at Myobu's body. His tongue was hanging from his mouth, eyes half-opened and glazed, fur coat grey as ash, as stone, as death itself.

Slick lines of red were beginning to trail, gently, down the black skin of Piandao's wrist.

The _Sahib _uttered a terrible shriek that made Zuko's ears ring, and slammed his bloody palm onto the drum.

There was a shout, a shriek, a terrific cry from the Void. The Spirit burst from the drum at Piandao's waist, blinding, white-hot, a streak of lightning in Zuko's silent, terrified eyes; a streak of pure cosmic energy and truth. It leapt from the leather and wood and crashed into the face of the black rock, scattering as it did so, the shattered glimmer of a million stars.

A terrible, sudden tremor went through the earth, crushing every Thief face-down to the sand, even bloody Piandao. It was felt in the Northern wastes, in the cities of the Union, felt beneath Azula's feet as she closed the door on her dying Uncle. Felt by the _isangoma _in the jungle-swamp, who laughed and laughed and laughed.

The ground was moving. Zuko had been forced to the sand from the first tremor, and the tremors that Slowly, for the effort of raising so huge a form from beneath the earth must have been unfathomable, Gui Xian reared his head above the Desert sand.

He was a mountain. He was so massive he blocked out the sun from the distant horizon, and all the oasis was cast in his shadow, the water spilling out free beneath him, unbarred by his huge form. But he was filthy. Having slept five centuries beneath the crimson sands of the desert, Gui Xian, the Black Warrior, the great Lion-Turtle, would look nothing less than a red-dusted piece of shit if he hadn't been half a mile high. His skin was dried and wrinkled like the bark of some warped, ancient tree; his huge black shell, the Thieves' rock, being studded and churned and carved into so many varying shapes and designs, suddenly began to creep vines and whispers. From the moment his huge, lion-like head rose from beneath the sand, dusted red, fangs hanging over his great lip, eyes like full moons, the vines were creeping. Things began to curl and grow upon the black surface of his shell, red and green and yellow things, brown things still coated with sand; his legs, still rooted in the red earth, looked made of thousands upon thousands of miles of leather. Tough, gnarled leather that was making the red sand spring to life with fresh, startling grass, emerald on ruby-red, jewels growing from the earth. Life was springing from the earth around the Awakened Gui Xian. Life was forever turning, waiting, in the moonlit eyes of the Black Warrior, eyes that had seen the Beginning, had seen the Void, had seen the world of whispers before there were Men.

These eyes looked at Zuko. They had been meant to look at Zuko, in this moment; the same way they had been meant to look upon another soul, a softer soul, centuries before. The same way they would be meant for the next doomed and troubled man. It was and is and would be; such a thing was inescapable, for to Gui Xian, there was no time, and there was no End.

"I am Awakened. You are a Guide of the Avatar."

Zuko was dead with fear. And for the first time he realized you really _could_ die from fear.

But the lion-turtle, Gui Xian, was raising his great, mountain-sized paws from beneath the desert, the sand lifting, flying upwards, falling down around the Black Warrior's leather skin like an earthen waterfall. His claws surfaced like comets, shinning in the new sunlight, long and thick as a hundred grown oak-trees. Sharper than a diamond-edged blade. When he spoke, his voice echoed the same way Myobu's had when he stood upon the hexagon, with memories from an earth before Time. With power and emptiness.

"Destiny is a road that leads in all directions... its end is hidden... shapeable... moveable... but inescapable. There is no light in the Void. It was made for those who would Uphold...

Zuko felt the energy in his body rise, go towards the Lion-Turtle's descending claw like a moth to flame, drawn to the timeless spirit within the shell. There was a heavy, old, intoxicating smell in the air - a smell like ages, like the Earth itself. The smell that had driven Myobu crazy, the smell that now immobilized Zuko as the huge, gleaming claw descended toward him.

"You must Uphold."

His sharp, massive claw hovered above Zuko, but did not touch him.

Memories of light, reaching into the sky. Of a soul being conquered. Being claimed and changed and broken.

Lessons unlearned. A heart twisted.

And doubt.

Gui Xian had, at last, understood it.

"...Yet even Destiny is an illusion."

The touch never came. Zuko shivered in the darkness beneath the shadow of the massive spirit, a spirit older than even the world beyond the Veil, a foundation of the Earth, a creature with roots in the depths. Zuko quivered in fear and awe and was not ashamed of it - he knew when something beautiful and terrible and ancient was presented to him, something altogether magical. The Black Warrior hesitated at the reverence of the firebender, and the sudden realization in the foolishness of his past. An old, wise mortal had once whispered the thing in Gui Xian's ear, had astounded the ancient Lion-Turtle with such simplicity.

"No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path."

He lowered his clawed paw to the earth, and never touched Zuko. Gui Xian was destined, then, to never again touch a mortal with his shining claw - save for one, ages and ages after from the time he stood facing the firebender in the midst of Acchai, in the red Desert, surrounded by the Thieves of Gihad.

"_Be freed from illusion_."

Grass curled around Zuko's knees, sped past him across the red earth as he looked up, silenced with terror, towards the Black Warrior.

Zuko saw the purpose of Gui Xian within his own eyes, within the blinding moons of his gaze. He knew the beast was retreating, was regretting, was doubting even in himself, the most ancient of spirits left upon the raw earth.

He was taking back what he had given.

The Lion-Turtle moved away towards the sea, feet like thunder on the Desert. A long time passed as he drifted away, towering, still a mountain when he had reached several miles from the oasis; the barren spot was now soaked with muddy sand as the underground spring loosed, mixed with the bleeding desert. _Sahib _Piandao had recovered from the possession of the drum-spirit, from the affect of Gui Xian's shadow. He looked at Zuko first, the young firebender near a foot shorter than his great height, a _mtwana_, a slave as he knew him. He was crouched on the earth, staring after the trail of grass and life that the Lion-Turtle had left in his wake.

There was fire in his eyes. The Black Warrior had spoken to him. Piandao looked on him and felt his black skin go pale, his veins run with ice. He had known great men, fierce men, men who could make men quail at the thought of their approach; but something knew was taking shape inside the firebender.

Something altogether wonderful, and altogether wretched.

There was a beast in him.

It was the old, doddering _Sheikh _that spoke first. Whether he was too old, too thick, or too brave to be as affected at GUi Xian's Awakening as the rest of them, he nonetheless began to jabber on as soon as the Lion-Turtle was a hill on the horizon. Piandao, confused, but ever-aware of his _Sheikh_, tore his eyes away from the crouched form of Zuko to listen to the man speak. His voice was rushed and excited in his barbarian tongue, but the _Sahib _knew what he spoke. Taking the long, white knife from Zuko's pile of belonging, he approached the crouching firebender.

Zuko stared at the grass beneath him, which had grown out of the presence of the Awakened Lion-Turtle. He let his fingers drift through it, clench into the sand beneath it, pull out a few blades of green. He was reminded of the lush, green lawns of Al-Abhad. Reminded how much Acchai had become a part of him. How much _she_ had become a part of him.

"The _Sheikh _speaks to you. He says you are welcome to our clan... and that the Thieves of Gihad will be your allies, as long as our blood runs red," he handed the heir of Agni his Uncle's blade, Lu Ten's blade, and he did it without constraint, without prejudice. Did it like Zuko was a Thief himself.

Zuko did not look at the _Sahib_. He took the knife and stood, still feeling the shadow of Gui Xian over him, feeling as though he had dodged a great, horrific doom. Feeling the lack of weight at his wrist so strongly that he did not even speak to Piandao, but turned and strode past him, his Uncle's knife in hand. Silently, carefully, barefoot and bare-chested and a slave, he weaved his way through the crowd of bowing men, prostrating themselves before the retreating figure of Gui Xian. He made his way clear into their midst, to a man who's sin black eyes were facing the ground.

He didn't hesitate. He'd almost forgotten what such a thing felt like.

The kneeling man's throat was open, white blade sliding in and out so smoothly the Thief hardly even made a sound. Then, there was only the muffled gargling, the blood pooling out onto the sand.

Zuko stooped to the man's wrist, the man with sin-black eyes, and took back what belonged to him. Katara's necklace was ragged now, but the gem was still gleaming blue and clear, the untainted carving of the blue rose.

_Mortals... are fools..._

Zuko whipped around. Myobu was standing uncertainly in the midst of the green lawn that had followed after the Black Warrior, his legs shaking, trembling like an old dog as he struggled to support himself. It sent another rush through Zuko, a rush of pleasure coupled with the rush of slitting the black-eyed man's throat. He felt like his head was going to spin.

"You must be marked," Piandao's voice brought him down, as he tied the blue-gem necklace to his wrist again.

Zuko looked at him suspiciously, but there was something so akin in the eyes of the Thief - something so familiar. Like remembering lotus petals, and raids on old cities beneath a burning sky.

"Marked?"

Piandao took his shirt in hand and tore it open with a violent motion, revealing his brown-skinned torso and upper arm. Scrawled across his barren chest, and partly over his great shoulder, ran the frightening and terrific image of a peacock-lion, teeth bared, with a brilliant red eye in each of its many feathers. The mark of the _Sahib Timur_, the Hundred Eyes.

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It was Lee who saw him. Lee, the boy had been posted as a watchman because he could not be dealt with anywhere else; the boy who tried to shoot arrows and got iron in a soldier's ass, the boy who tripped and set a dozen tents on fire. The poor, neglected brother of an increasingly furious Sen Su, cursed with a strong nobility, but a weak heart.

Lee sat atop the valley's highest dune and watched the horizon dismally. He was carving the figure of a platypus-bear out of a chunk of wood some sympathetic soldier had given him, but the boy was dreary and bored with the task. The sun was low and red, and the day had been as uneventful and routine as the many days previous; Jeong-Jeong's ruthless training, Hakoda's encouragement, everyone repeating exercises and pitted against each other in mock fights and duels and ambushes. It was an Acchain training technique to randomly assign different soldiers to fight, or groups of soldiers to gang up on a single, or for two regiments to duel - anything that would force them to struggle and sweat and survive, train them for the wild conditions of battle. It was exhausting work, and the soldiers themselves could notice very little improvement - even though they were swiftly becoming a terrible and lethal fighting force.

It was Lee who saw him. A singular black speck on the horizon that grew to a black wave, a speck followed by the Shifters and soldiers of the Thieves of Gihad, with the Hundred Eyes at his side. A singular black speck that became his Lord of Agni, bare-chested and grinning, riding atop a white camel.

"_Aya! AYA_!" the boy began to shout, wildly, insanely, throwing down the half-carved platypus-bear. Leaping atop the sand dune, he waved his arms frantically towards his Lord, still yelling, "Aya! _Aya_! Here! Here! The Lord!"

The army, at first, ignored him. But then other men began to notice the figure, the wave, and excitement ran through the army. It took Jeong-Jeong's bold, commanding roar to make everyone stay still until their Lord arrived. Only lee continued to run around, excited, searching or Sen Su. Sen Su however, had purposefully hidden himself in some obscure corner of the army, where no one could see his shame.

Zuko took his time, approached the army at an easy pace, kept his aim towards the General and the Chieftan. They waited for him to descend the dunes, halt the following Thieves, get down from him camel beside Piandao. Myobu, still weak but gaining strength, walked slowly up beside the Hundred Eyes, who put a hand behind his ears and scratched. Hakoda looked at the two of them, at the legions of Thieves that followed, and back to Zuko. There was real, true awe in his eyes now, not the kind he had before paid him due only to whispers of destiny; now the Chieftan knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this man was destined to unite the war-lands.

"...Zuko?"

Suddenly the earth erupted on the outskirts of the army. Sandbenders exploded from the ground in their pinnacles of sand and rock, spiraling up like geysers from the deep springs, Shifters with them, blades drawn. The army reacted instantly into battle stance, drew bows, lit their hands to flame - but a shout from Zuko, from Piandao, from Jeong-Jeong, stopped the bloodshed before it could commence. No bender attacked, no muscle moved, as soon as the cry went up.

The moment, itself, was endless. The Thieves glared at the army, and the Acchain warriors glared back. Sandbenders with cloaked dust around their feet, moving in silent spirals, faced firebender who's fists were wrapped with flame; Acchain archers with bows loaded and taught, pointed arrows between the eyes of Shifters with gleaming blades running down beneath their hands, long as a man's forearm. Yet no one moved, the wind moving cloaks like silent banners, like whispers, declarations of war and friendship, moving dust slowly across the barren ground of Acchai.

Lord Zuko, grinning, standing like a bridge between two peoples, the dust drifting by him, the white camel at his side. The deep, black eyes of _Sahib Timur_; the calm, intelligent blue of Hakoda's; and the raw ferocity of General Jeong-Jeong's gaze, all meeting for a brief, pulse-pounding moment.

And the fire-filled, golden eyes of Zuko.

The Mark was still freshly-tattooed, curling over his shoulder and half across his scarred chest, the marks of Foxes' teeth, of blades, of clubs, and the talons of Wan Shi Tong. The Mark of a curling, Crimson Dragon, its wide mouth opened and bared, wreathed in red flame.

Almost exactly the same Mark they had given his Uncle.

Zuko spoke to confirm everyone's suspicions. To erase all doubt that had existed in the hearts of the warriors, and especially in the heart of Sen Su.

"I'd say we're long overdue for a visit to Lord Mongke."

Jeong-Jeong threw back his head and laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Laughed until Zuko could see the red roof of his mouth, the white cap of each tooth.

He did not laugh because of the absurdity of Zuko's success. He did not laugh because of the surrounding Thieves. He did not even laugh at the awkward way Zuko had strutted into camp upon his camel, nor the disdain with which Piandao looked at him.

He laughed because his time was up.

He laughed because the Foxes had finally come.


End file.
